


The Traveler

by ToothandScale



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 112,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6736156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToothandScale/pseuds/ToothandScale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been 3 years since the Wild Hunt was defeated. Ciri has been on the path ever since, when one day she comes upon a mysterious elf who can't speak and seems to have no knowledge of who she herself is. </p><p>Who is she, why is she here and most importantly, what kind of adventures will the two have?</p><p>This story uses the end-game story where Radovid won the war, Ciri became a Witcheress and Geralt ended up with Yennefer. Smaller details will be made clear in-story. This story is meant to be a fantasy continuation of the whole Witcher saga including the books and all DLCs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to thank FenHarelsBottomBitch for editing this story. Without her it would be a jumbling mess.
> 
> As chapters are added, I will edit the character tags as the characters appear. And many characters will appear.
> 
> Edit: I try very hard to stay mostly lore friendly (although there are some parts I might take some liberty with) and after reading a certain section of "The Blood of the Elves" I realized Ciri could speak the Elder speech very well in fact. So, her not being able to speak it has been changed. Sorry for the error.

It had been three years since the Wild Hunt had been defeated and the Dearg Ruadhri sent back to the world from which they came. The White Frost had been destroyed at the tower of Tor Gvalch'ca on Undvik. Since that great battle, the natives of Skellige all avoided the island believing it to be cursed and not realizing the circumstances under which it had been occupied. When the elves from the Northern kingdoms, that is—kingdom—arrived, fleeing the wrath of the Church of the Flaming Rose and seeking refuge, they were welcomed to settle on the Isle of Undvik.  
But Yaennin knew none of that. All she knew was that in the deep of summer, a most tasty mushroom grew in the center of the ruins on the tallest peak of the island she came to call home and that today she would bring home a basket full of spindleshrooms. It would be fitting, concidering the guest her father's inn had received the prior night. The second sword on his back made of silver marked him unmistakably as a witcher. He had been their first guest since they arrived 2 years prior.  


After an exhausting hour-long hike up to the old ruin, Yaennin reached the last step to the place where the mushrooms grew. It hadn't been half an hour of picking that she saw a small speck of a light in the center of the ring. She couldn't help but look into its center as it began to grow. It reached about the size of a meter before she began to fear it. She wanted to back away and leave but she couldn't take her gaze away from the now massive ball of light. It seemed to pull her in and consume her thoughts. As she drew closer she couldn't help but reach her hand out toward the warm glow. She mustered her last bit of strength and fear to try and pull her hand back, til she heard something in her head. “Help me”. She wasn't sure if that was what she heard, but she was convinced she heard it. She reached out and stuck her hand into the glow and then...nothing.

 

“She has always been back well before dark. It's not like her to be gone this long” whimpered an elven man with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. 

“We are almost to the top.” said the ashen haired woman brandishing two swords on her back: one made of steel and the other silver.

“How would you know that?” questioned a slender man with chesnut hair and cat eyes.

“I've been here before Lambert. Can you smell anything or see any tracks?”

“Huh? When were you...oh...right. I lost the scent half way up the mountain with this fucking wind, but I do see tracks. All made by smaller feet going one direction.” replied Lambert.

“What does that mean?” cried the elf.

“It means, whoever went up here did not come back down. Or at least, came down another way. Stay down here elf, it's best Ciri and I go up there alone. If there is a monster up there, best leave it to trained professionals.”

“There is no point in worrying yet Nathaen. If Yaennin is up there we'll find her” Ciri assured the elf. In her experience someone who had been missing for that long in an ancient elven ruin was often found in pieces, but she was always the optimist.

Ciri and Lambert drew their silver swords. Ciri lead with both hands on the hilt of Gweyhyr, while Lambert held his sword lowered with the tip about knee high and his left hand stretched out prepared to cast a sign.

As Ciri reached the 4th to last step she peered over the ridge.

“I see two bodies. One is lying on the ground. The other is sitting up against the wall with its arms around its knees.” she whispered.

“Bodies or corpses?” asked Lambert

“I can't tell,” said Ciri.

She waited for Lambert to reach the top. He concentrated his senses has he climbed the last few steps.

“They are alive. I can hear them breathing. One has a strange rhythm...it's first labored and then soft. The other is normal.”

When he finally reached the top he contracted the muscles in his eyes in order to focus on smaller areas more precisely and looked around.

“They both seem to be female. The one sitting near the wall is watching us. My medallion isn't vibrating so whoever or whatever she is, she isn't using magic.”

“Are you sure? Your medallions are not foolproof and I'm in no mood to be surprised by another Bruxa.”

“Hey, that was a particularly old and crafty one who also had happened to convince a sorcerer to cast some sort of magic dampening spell on her. Besides, that contract was REALLY good money and now that...”

“Quiet Lambert. Focus.” Ciri interrupted. 

The two slowly approached the person sitting against the wall with their swords still drawn. She continued to stare at them with her mouth open and made not even a twitch except the movement of her eyes. Lambert saw that she was naked and was shivering. He began examining her with his keen eyes. He couldn't make out any colors in the dark, but his eyes could still pick up on of the subtlest of details. He started at her hands which were clutching her ankles; this made looking at her feet a simultaneous process. Any signs of claws or talons would determine whether she'd get a silver sword through the throat or the benefit of the doubt. When they checked out normal he moved to her face looking for any abnormalities. He started at her mouth looking for a hint of teeth behind her quivering lips. Nothing unusual there either. He then noticed something on the side of her head peaking out of her hair, draped down just barely past her shoulders. 

“I hate to disappoint you Ciri” Lambert said in his frequently used sarcastic tone “but I think our suspect here is merely a cold, naked she-elf”

“Oh for Melitele's sake” Ciri said while taking her cloak off and placing it on the elf.

“Didn't Geralt ever teach you not to take the gods' names in vain?”

She gave him a nasty look and turned back to the elf.

“Hey, are you ok? What happened here? Are you Yaennin?” 

The elf just looked at her with a fearful expression and cocked her head as if to listen to the words she was speaking.

I guess not, thought Ciri.

Lambert moved over to the person lying face down in the center of the ring. 

“Let me guess, this is Yaennin. At least she smells like the sheets old pointy ears let me sniff,” Lambert said realizing how inappropriate he sounded. 

“Nathaen? I think you might want to come up here” Ciri yelled with a half smile.

He arrived at the top of the stairs very quickly. As soon as he saw Yaennin face down on the ground he began sobbing, ran to her and propped her up on his lap.

“She isn't dead if that helps at all” said Lambert

“Yaennin? Yaennin? Wake up!” cried Nathaen.

She reacted as if her father had been trying to wake her from an afternoon nap.

“What? Why are you being so loud?” mumbled Yaennin in a slightly perturbed manner.

“Oh thank Dana. You are alright. What happened? What did this person do to you?” he demanded while pointing to the now covered she-elf next to the wall.

“What person? I just came up here to pick mushrooms and I must have gotten tired and lied down to take a nap.”

Lambert and Ciri looked at each other puzzled. 

“Who are you?” Ciri addressed the she-elf.

She merely looked at her with the same fearful expression as before. There was no hint of defiance, but also no hint of understanding.

“Try speaking to her in elvish” Lambert suggested.

He knew Ciri could speak the Elder speech considering Yennefer at taught her in her time at the Temple of Melitele. Apart from that, she had spent a few years with the Aen Elle and a few more on the run with the elven sage Avallac'h, who at the time could have best been described as her tutor. Whether they spoke the common tongue or the Elder speech in private was unknown to him. No Aen Elle had been seen on the Continent since the last time Ciri was in this exact location and she rarely talked about it. Lambert knew it would be inappropriate to bring this up in front of strangers so he simply suggested, “Just, say a simple sentence and she if she reacts.”

“Ceadmil. Cé tusa? Cad a thugann tú anseo?” she elegantly and fluidly.

Lambert continued to study her. He noticed no change in her pupils, heart rate or facial movements. 

“I don't think she understands Elvish. In fact I don't think she can even speak.” 

Ciri just gave a frustrated sigh.

“I don't think we are going to solve this mystery in the dark in this blasted ruin of a gate. Yaennin, can you walk?”

Yaennin got up and walked around a bit. “Everything seems to be working.”

Lambert quickly surveyed the scene once more trying to retain any clues that could be relevant later. He then went first down the stairs since he was the only one who could properly see in the dark. Nathaen and his daughter followed.

Ciri reached out her hand to help the she-elf up. It took a few moments for her to register what Ciri's gesture meant, as if she had never been offered a hand before. As her fingers and palm made contact with Ciri's, the she-elf made a sharp gasp. Her face changed from one of fear to one of relief and happiness. 

Ciri effortlessly pulled the woman to her feet, but was shocked when the she-elf's legs immediately wobbled out from under her and she tumbled to her knees. 

“Don't tell me you can't walk? Well, let's try the old arm around the shoulder technique then, shall we?”

Ciri squatted down and put the elf's arm around her shoulder. Once she had a firm grip on her wrist she stood up pulling the elf with her.

The trek down the mountain was long, tedious and regarding the mysterious she-elf, very wobbly, but all five made it back to the inn and exhausted, they went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Elder speech: From what I understand Sapkowski used Gaelic and Celtic and some German as a base for the language. I am using an English to Irish translator for the "meat and bread" of my elven sandwich and my ability to speak German as the "condiments". Hopefully it will seem plausible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

Ciri woke just before dawn. She dressed quickly and went downstairs. She knew no one would be up considering the night the innkeeper and his daughter had had, but she couldn't sleep. There was too much to ponder about the events that occurred a mere 4 hours ago. 

She made her way to the front porch, if you could even call it that, and leaned against one of the main posts supporting the roof with an exhausted huff. It was a quaint, small inn with four rooms upstairs and a tavern downstairs. Mostly it was just some wood thrown together and was never meant for a large number of travelers. Nathaen sustained his business serving drinks to the locals and providing room and board for the rare merchant who came to Udnaryk to buy the refugees' goods. They, like all the elves on the isle, were truly destitute which is why she had insisted to Lambert they not demand payment when Nathaen asked for their help the previous evening.

*

“Sometimes you just help people because it is the right thing to do.” Ciri exclaimed.

“Yeah, and that’s how you end up in the poor house with a rusty sword on your back and boots filled with swamp shit because your soles are falling off. How are you supposed to get a contract then? Tell me, oh wisest lioness. How do you convince a lord to pay you 1500 florens to kill a striga or a pesta when you look like every other chump that came before you claiming they can kill a monster and then getting torn apart when they try?” retorted Lambert.

“Crowns.” she said.

“What?” he answered annoyed.

“You mean crowns. Nilfgaard lost the war. And last I checked, the only major swampy area I know of is north of Nilfgaard. I expect it certainly would be rather difficult to convince a noble of the Northern kingdom to pay you 1500 florens.” she said with a cocky smirk while watching him puff out his lower lip as we was wont to do when annoyed.

She continued, “And to answer your question, I would kill the striga or the pesta with a rusty sword on my back and no soles on my boots, take the 1500 crowns and buy me some new boots and a proper sword, all the while having gotten food and drink from people I once took pity on who then returned the favor. But since I can only convince you with a cold-hearted bastard argument: we didn't charge Nathaen because he could have simply told us we couldn't stay at his inn ‘til he found his daughter, which would have left us in the same situation we are now.”

“We could have forced him to let us sleep there.” retorted Lambert.

“And what would that have proven? Now is the time not to reinforce the stereotype that witchers are brutes and savages and not to be trusted.” 

He wanted to point out that she wasn't a witcher; at least, not like he was. But he knew it would be futile. She was as stubborn as she always was and through the years had become more cunning with her arguments. Besides, she had a point. Every time she took and completed a contract to lift a curse or kill a monster she was recognized as a witcher. Every time she was seen with a second sword on her back made of silver the word “witcher” was whispered. She was representing Lambert and the rest of his cat-eyed species even if she had never gone through the Trial of Grasses herself.

*

Ciri felt the first rays of sunlight hit her face as she replayed the scene from the previous night.

_One set of footprints up the mountain leading to the center of the circle ending at Yaennin. A trail leading from Yaennin to where we found the random she-elf on the wall as if she had dragged herself there. No traces of active magic. No signs of trauma. No physical injuries. Partial memory loss to Yaennin and what appears to be complete memory loss to the she-elf. Could be a sorceress whose spell went wrong. Could be the victim of a mage who erased her memory. But how did she get there? Portal? Portals leave traces for at least a few hours. They may have arrived too late for Lambert's necklace to detect a trace. Could something have dropped her there? A dragon? Or was it something else. What is missing? ___

She closed her eyes and pinched her nose trying to make sense of it all when she was interrupted by an intentional cough.

“I wanted to thank you, vatt'ghern, for helping me find my daughter. Ever since her mother was killed and her brother left to join the Scoia'tael, Yaennin is all I have left.”

She lowered her hand from her face, smiled and gave him a kind nod.

“I was wondering if I could speak to you about the she-elf we found.” He was obviously nervous.

“Listen, we really don't have much. It was just 2 and half years ago that we fled the North where elves, well, all non-humans where being systematically persecuted. It was luck that Queen Cerys allowed us to settle here. We are just trying to keep a low profile and not get mixed up in any politics or sorcery. I am not suggesting I have an idea where that woman came from or who she is or even what happened on that mountain, but if she is involved in something...anything, it could become dangerous for us. I don't have much to offer, but please, take her with you.”

Ciri had figured this would happen. For a brief second she had thought it might be better for the she-elf to stay with her own kind. When she considered the possibility that magic could be involved, she figured it would be best to take her to a sorceress who might be able to help. Nathaen asking for Ciri to take the elf with her, however, did give her an opportunity; an opportunity she would make use of.

“We'll take her with us. We don't need payment, but I do have one condition. Should anyone, no matter who they are, come asking around, you never saw her. You also never saw me or my ever-so friendly witcher companion. We were never here. Do you understand?”

“Who might come asking around?”

“I honestly do not know,” Ciri truthfully stated. “But if someone does come, it could save us all a lot of trouble”. 

Among certain circles an “ashen-haired witcheress” would be quickly recognized as Ciri.

“Then my daughter and I shall speak of it to no one. If you wish to keep the other villagers from knowing as well, I suggest you leave hastily before they start their days.” Naethan bluntly stated.

Ciri nodded, “I wish you well, Nathaen”.

“Va Fail, vatt'ghern” he replied.

He went back to the hut in which he and his daughter slept.

She was tickled by him calling her “vatt'ghern” for the elves used that word more so to depict the “species” of witcher and not the profession. Perhaps this was the first time the two weren't mutually exclusive or perhaps Nathaen only spoke a few words of elvish like many of the Aen Seidhe she had met and could only understand a rough translation of it into the common tongue. 

“What a beautiful morning it is today!”

Ciri could already hear the annoyance in Lambert's voice. 

“The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. Chirping so loud that I heard their little chit-chat and find out that I get to be a baby sitter. Seems rather fitting since I will never have children of mine own anyway” he continued.

“It's not forever. We'll head on over to the Kaer Trolde harbor and she'll come with us by ship to Kovir so Triss can have a look at her...” Ciri began.

She knew what he might say and wanted to preemptively strike,

“...and I'll pay her boat fare.” Ciri said.

Before Lambert could make a snide comment, Yaennen came scurrying up with something in her arms.

“Witcheress, witcher, my father thought that your new companion might need some clothes. They belonged to my brother. We took a pair of his breeches and a shirt when we left Novigrad in the hopes he might abandon the Scoia'tel and return to us. I...I don't think he is coming back.” she said with sorrow in her eyes. Yaennin choked back a sob and inhaled sharply.

“Anyway, the clothes will probably be too big for her, but it beats running around naked.”

She handed Ciri the clothes and ran off to the hut where she and her father slept.

“Well why don't YOU wake sleeping beauty while I pack our things” suggested Lambert.

Ciri went into the bedroom where the she-elf was still fast asleep. She knelt down and gave her a rub on the back.

“It's time for us to go now. Hey, wake up. We have to leave. Get dressed.”

The elf, confused, naked and with no shame, stood up.

“Well, I see you've got standing under control.” Ciri said as she handed her the clothes.

The elf pulled the linen pants and cotton shirt apart, unsure of what to do with the garments.

“Don't tell me you don't know how to put on clothes? The pants go on like this and the shirt goes on like this,” she said, gesticulating to her own clothing.

The elf opened up the pants and seemed amazed to find the two leg holes. Ciri, becoming impatient as time was becoming critical, grabbed the pants and started shoving them onto the elf's legs. Since they were too large she had to improvise with the drawstring to make it tight enough that the pants wouldn't fall down. She roughly drew the shirt down over her head and tied the top of it closed. The whole act looked rather ridiculous with a grown woman dressing another grown woman as if she were a child. She was thankful that Lambert was not there to witness it lest she never hear the end of it. Ciri took a step back and looked at her accomplishment. The elf looked absolutely silly. Everything was oversized and drooping in weird places. She brushed the hair out of the elf's face with her fingers, and stifling a giggle gave her an amused smile. The elf looked in her eyes and returned in kind.

“Well, looks like you're ready. Come on!” she said motioning for the elf to follow.

Before the three set off, Ciri took three small pouches and a leather bound book out of her satchel and placed it in front of the hut while Lambert and the elf looked on.

“Let's go.” she said.

*

Lambert and the elf sat in the rocky dingy with Ciri at the rudder as they made their way to Ard Skellig. They would take the most direct route from Undvik to Ard Skellig in order to avoid sirens and would journey the rest of the way by foot. Ciri figured it would take about 3 to 4 days considering their lack of horses and the elf's lack of fitness.

Lambert examined the elf more carefully now with the presence of sunlight while she was studying her surroundings. She had rather soft, seemingly unused skin without any visible blemishes, akin to a newborn child's. There was nothing about her that he could tell might have been fixed by magic like most sorceresses; well, human sorceresses at least--he had never actually seen an elven sorceress. He noticed such subtle flaws in his own love, Keira. She must have had a crooked or broken nose that had never properly healed before she began her studies as a sorceress. But this was a topic he would never bring up with Keira, even if only to satisfy his need for confirmation.

She was average size for an elf, making her a bit on the tall side for a human. Everything from her slightly short legs to her long torso couldn't be described as anything but soft. Her arms were set solidly on her moderately wide shoulders, which appeared to have never lifted anything of significant weight. He traced his eyes to where her shirt ceased to fulfill its purpose and her collar bone was exposed. A few centimeters further he then noticed that he could see the top curve of her small breasts. Knowing that Ciri was, even without special senses, often as observant as any witcher, he moved his eyes above the elf's neckline so as not to get caught. It was rather tempting though.

He continued to look at her face and couldn't help but notice how similar she looked to Ciri. It was almost as if they could be related. The only obvious difference was the near luminescence in the elf's emerald eyes and her pale golden hair. He thought it almost interesting that it was the same coloring as Yaennin until he realized it was a rather common elf complexion. She also lacked the scar that Ciri carried on her face, and of course the rounded ears.

“She could pass as your sister, you know. I just noticed how much you two look alike.”

“Well, I do have elven blood in me from way back when. Maybe we are related,” Ciri jested.

“What should we call her? We can't just keep going with she-elf,” Ciri asked.

“Pain-in-the-ass, Amnesia-face, Dorky Damsel...take your pick”

“I certainly look forward to arriving in Kovir where you are less of a pain in my ass, Lambert.” retorted Ciri.

She paused for a moment. “I read a book a few months back while I was working on a Griffin contract in Maribor. The heroine was called Iespeth. That's what we'll call her. Iespeth” 

“What kind of a name is that?” Lambert asked.

“Don't know,” Ciri said shrugging her shoulders, “but it sounds pretty”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iespeth's name is pronounced Eespeth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

Shortly before their dingy touched the docks of Holmstein's Port, Ciri put her cloak on Iespeth and raised the hood so as to cover her ears. 

“I'm not certain how the Skelligans feel about elves, but it's better if no one sees her ears.”

Lambert, in a rare act of acquiescence, nodded in agreement. They both took turns pulling the hood over Iespeth's head every time it slipped off until she finally seemed to understand that she needed to keep it on and fixed it herself when it fell too low.

They spent the night in the Arinbjorn tavern after a long walk north from Holmstein's Port. Before they set off the next morning, Ciri bought a small bundle of salted fish and 2 loaves of laverbread for the rest of their journey. She wasn't particularly keen on either of the two Skelligan staples, but it would fulfill the trio's basic nutritional needs until they reached Kaer Trolde.

“I'd like to take a small shortcut to Fayrlund.” Ciri exclaimed as soon as she lost sight of the last villager.

“If my memory serves me correctly, there is a rather pleasant stream in the middle of these woods. It would be nice to clean up a bit before we spend two weeks on a ship. If we just cut in here to the East...”. Ciri trailed off and paused while examining Lambert's expression, expecting him to interject.

“What? I don't always disagree. Only when I think your idea is bullshit,” Lambert said with a half-smirk.

Ciri rolled her eyes and led the way into the forest.

As they got past the initial thicket, the trees became less dense but were very large. Their intertwined branches and overlapping leaves made the forest floor very dark. Lambert contracted his eyes and bristled. He knew what kind of creatures frequently lived in old parts of forest untouched by humans. 

“So, you've been here before, Ciri?” asked Lambert, somewhat concerned.

“Yep. The stream is just up ahead!” she exclaimed without a care and continued casually walking her own winding path through the trees.

The trees became larger and fewer. Most saplings would not have a chance of growing due to the sheer lack of light. He noticed a few crows in the trees watching the trio as they progressed deeper. He didn't like it one bit.

“At last!” Ciri said disappearing behind a large tree with Iespeth in tow.

As Lambert came round the tree he saw multiple stones shaped in a curious patterm. It obviously wasn't mere coincidence. He immediately drew his sword. Iespeth jumped as she heard the scrape of the steal on the scabard.

“Great. This is just _great_! You've marched us into a Leshen's lair.” he said with an angry, low toned but piercing voice.

Ciri unbuckled the scabbards of her two swords and haphazardly laid them on the ground next to a large rock while smiling. She took a seat on the rock, crossed her right leg over her left and placed her elbows so as to support her upper body. She grinned at Lambert for a good while until he finally said, “For fuck's sake Ciri, take this seriously! You have no idea how dangerous these things are. They summon crows, wolves and even roots….yeah, frigging tree roots to attack you! Do you know what it's like getting attacked from every direction? Would you just stop acting like a know-it-all for once and draw your sword so we can get out of here alive!”

She stifled a laugh.

Lambert took a deep breath. “Unless of course there is something you know and wish to tell me”.

“Oh, do continue, Lambert. How I love showing you how you've overreacted after one of your tantrums.”

Lambert was flaring his nostrils and pursing his lips. Ciri thought she saw a hint of red in his face, but it was too dark to see properly.

“There _was_ a Leshen here,” she began, “but Geralt killed it a few years back while I was in hiding. When we were on the path together after defeating the Wild Hunt, we journeyed through Skellige due to the large amount of monsters that had arrived. He took me here to show me what a Leshen's lair looked like. He also taught me that as long as there are still ‘traces,’ I suppose you could call them, of the Leshen, no other monster is going to take up residence. The crows and wolves sometimes hang around hoping for their ‘master’ to return, but I daresay that shan’t be a problem for us since wolves rarely attack groups of people. Unless of course they smelled you pissing yourself, Lambert,” she jested. 

“One more thing though, didn't you notice how the remains of the totem's lacked any green moss...well, more specifically any type of bryophytes, on them?” Ciri asked.

“What's got that to do with anything? Do you plan on giving me an alchemy lesson now?” he replied.

“Leshens have a thing for green moss. They somehow make it grow on their possessions. No one knows why, but 'be there no moss, have no fear of a Leshen end-boss.' chapter 7, verse 5, line 24 of _Monster Limericks for Young Witcher Boys_ by Doggta Zuss. In the next chapter he has a poem about a possessed, animated pair of green pants, as if such a thing truly ever existed. Still, it always made me laugh.”

Lambert looked at her far from content. “You mean to tell me that if no moss is growing on a Leshen's totem then there is no Leshen?”

“Geralt told me you weren't the most studious young witcher to come through Kaer Mohren. 'Always preferred practicing his sword work' he said. At any rate, I'm ready to get out of these filthy clothes. There is sort of a water fall just upstream. Wait here while Iespeth and I clean ourselves. Then you can have a go.”

Iespeth turned her attention to Ciri after hearing her new name. Ciri took her by the hand and led her away.

Lambert figured, with his sword already out, that it would be a good time to oil it. He grabbed the satchel that he had been carrying and sat down on the rock that had recently been vacated by Ciri. He could still feel the warmth that she had left behind. _Not the most studious. Pfft. My sword is what has kept me alive all the years, not a crooked back from pouring over books. Considering Vesemir had lived so long having only been a fencing master, it had served him reasonably well._ He removed his gloves, placed them next to the satchel and pulled out a medium-sized flask and a small, thickly woven cloth. As he removed the cork with a quiet plop he could immediately smell that the oil was slowly becoming rancid. It didn't matter to the sword in the slightest, but it certainly affected his overly-sensitive nose. He poured out a small amount onto the cloth while crinkling his nose and nestled the bottle in the duff by the rock so it wouldn't tip over. He slowly and methodically ran the cloth from the end of the hilt to the tip of the blade. Lambert repeated this with a steady rhythm. Lambert found this act akin to meditating and often closed his eyes during. 

It was quiet and he was relaxed until he heard feet crunching leaves. He kept his eyes shut as he was sure it was most likely a certain she-elf judging by the unsureness of the gait. The steps came closer and closer until he knew she had stopped right in front of him. He slowly opened his eyes. She didn't deserve him speedily exiting his daze.

She stood before him with her hands at her side with a giant grin on her face completely naked. He blinked as if he were doing a double-take not entirely sure how to react. Although Keira and he had a happily polyamorous relationship and he had been with a few other women since they came together, he still felt a twang of unease and averted his eyes. _What is she doing, what does she want?_

She motioned to him, but he continued looking at her feet. He couldn't make out whether she was beckoning to stand up and come with or to take off his clothes. Finally she grabbed his right hand with both of hers and pulled. There was no way an elf of her size with no discernible muscle could physically force him to get up, but seeing as he was slightly amused, he acquiesced to her 'request.'

“I'm not sure what your plan is, but at this point I am a little bit curious as to what you’re getting at,” He knew she didn't understand, but he didn't care.

She led him by the hand along the stream. He decided to take this opportunity to go ahead and look at an elven ass. It was rather shapely and had an inviting V where her lower back met her perky butt cheeks. His eyes followed the line her butt crack made down to the crease between her bottom and thighs. _If I could follow that nice little path_ , he thought, _what would I find in between her legs on the other side? Would she have full and inviting or modest and quaint lips? Would she be blonde or brunette?_ He became so distracted he didn't even watch where they were going.

***

Ciri had figured Iespeth had maybe needed to relieve herself which is why she let her go off without question. In the meantime, she had been sure to wash her nether regions as they tended to get the most unpleasant during the long stretches in which she was unable to bathe. Her clothes lay in a pile with Iespeth's some distance away on an old tree stump. 

She finally heard the crunch of the undergrowth and knew Iespeth was returning.

“Iespeth, where did you...LAMBERT what the hell!?!?” she said angrily while putting one hand over her breasts and the other over her snatch.

“She dragged me here! It's not MY fault. Why are you screaming at ME!?” he said, shocked and dismayed while looking at the ground.

Iespeth stepped forward smiling and motioned to Lambert. When he didn't move she tugged at his clothes, pointed at herself and then pointed to the pile of garments on the stump nearby. She looked at Ciri and then back at Lambert. The smile slowly left her face as she gradually moved her hands to have the same position as Ciri. She hung her head low and looked at neither of them.

“I think she wanted me to bathe with you two” Lambert said amused.

“GO. AWAY.” Ciri said coldly.

“Fine. Then I'll just go oil my sword!” he snapped back, knowing that it sounded a bit dirty.

Ciri cocked her head and gave him a what-the-fuck look.

“You heard me!” he exclaimed, deciding to go with it. He marched back to camp whistling so that they would know his location. The whole situation left him baffled.

 _Brown with highlights of red._ _He thought smiling. I am such a pervert. I can't wait to see Keira_ , he thought while thinking about the glimpse he caught of Iespeth while Ciri was yelling at him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

The 2-week-long voyage on the ship north had hardly been pleasant. Ciri and Lambert had taken turns chaperoning Iespeth on the upper deck due to her seasick nature. The only relief was that the two never had to be concerned of any sailor approaching their elven companion since she reeked of vomit. They had attempted dipping her fouled clothes in the sea water which only mitigated the physical evidence of her sensitive stomach, but not the scent.

“Pont Vanis. Finally! It’s not far from the harbor to the city gates. I can’t wait to sleep in a proper bed and take a proper bath” exclaimed Ciri looking at Iespeth. 

“I never knew how disgusting a mixture of fish, laverbread and bile could be. That elf of yours could teach a master alchemist a few things if he ever wanted to play a prank on someone he didn't like.” Lambert simpered. He only planned to stay a few hours in the summer capital of Kovir while the ship restocked. He would sail further to the Hengfors and then continue on foot east to Kaer Mohren. Ciri and he had originally planned to stay for two days in the city with Triss -that was, until Iespeth came into the picture- but he longed to see Keira, who was due to arrive at the northern witcher fortress in two weeks and they were already running behind. Alone, he could speedily cross the mountains on foot and arrive when she did. All the remaining witchers of the School of the Wolf and their paramours excluding Geralt and Yennefer, had agreed to winter this year at Kaer Mohren.

Ciri became anxious as the ship prepared to dock. She was looking forward to seeing Triss and letting her take a look at Iespeth. As the harbor came into sight, she began reminiscing about when she first met Triss at Kaer Mohren. It was on the 'Killer' path on the southern edge of the fortress -the trail all young witcher's ran for training- where she first encountered the sorceress. Triss had mended her split knee with magic. She remembered after Triss' arrival that the frequency of growth-accelerating mushrooms and endurance-enhancing “salad” had mysteriously decreased. She remembered learning how to deal with being “indisposed”. Most of all she remembered the kindness with which Triss had cared for her and hoped she would show the same care for Iespeth.

“I'll tell Eskel and Maya why you'll be delayed.” Lambert told Ciri. “I think I know what you are going to say, but what do you plan to do with her?”

Ciri rubbed her face roughly with her hands and gave an exacerbated sigh.

“She's not your problem you know. You don't have an obligation to take care of her” Lambert said trying to be helpful.

Ciri looked at him knowing he was, in his own peculiar way, trying to helpful. “Lambert, I understand where you are coming from. I really do. I would love to just leave her here with some random elves or even pay some fees to dump her into some asylum. Hell, If I didn't hate them so much, I could even demand a favor from a member of the Lodge...but, it wouldn't be right. I need more information.”

“You don't owe her anything. Shit, she's just going be more trouble than any benefit she could provide you.” he retorted.

“Lambert, when I was on the run from the Wild Hunt I was constantly at the mercy of people I didn't know. Elves, humans, and a few other races…almost all of them complete strangers. It was because of their mercy and compassion that I survived. Some of them gave their lives protecting me even without knowing what was at stake. They are part of the reason that we all survived the White Frost; Tedd Deireadh as the users of the Elder Speech so elegantly put it.” She looked down and creased her eyebrows, “I feel that I owe their memories at least this much. I feel like I need to help Iespeth without purpose or promise of payback. I…I can't explain why”. Her eyes watered.

Lambert felt a bit of envy. He wondered if he would ever feel that selfless. He had never felt particularly motivated to do something good just because it seemed morally right. His life had been one of survival mostly due to spite. It felt inappropriate to express his typical instinctual reaction of cynicism to her monologue, so he merely remained silent.

They exchanged no words until the ship had been properly secured to the dock and the gangway extended.

“I guess you'll get there in about a month?” asked Lambert referring to Kaer Mohren.

“Mmhmm. See you soon Lambert” she said smiling sweetly. He watched with his viper eyes as Ciri made sure Iespeth's hood completely covered her ears. She locked arms with Iespeth to make sure she stayed by her side and used her right hand to hold the railing of the gangway. The she-elf stared at Lambert bewildered, paying no attention to where Ciri led her, until they disappeared into the crowd at the docks.

The sights and smells were very typical of any city with a major port; calls of vendors to sell their fresh catch of the day, the scent of fish, cockles and mussels, the creaking of cranes lowering crates onto docks, the fragrance of recently delivered Zerrikanian spices, the drunken singing of sailors returning from a long bout at sea.

The duo wound their way through the labyrinth of people. The gate wasn’t particularly far and was constructed to make the movement of people and goods efficient. It had one large archway in the middle and two smaller ones separated from the main by a wall made of stone columns on either side. On the cobblestone street under the main arch were three long rows of slightly elevated stones spaced approximately 2.5 meters apart which forced any carriages to form lanes. Jutting out from the columns separating the large and small archways were small metal fences encouraging pedestrians to form lines to enter the city. Hanging over every archway was a sign with a few words and arrows instructing the appropriate entrance to take. Right to enter, left to exit. It was a typical feature of a city in Kovir; a simple, but very well-designed construction to facilitate productivity.

Ciri began to pick up the pace. Though she would rather not have admitted it, she was exhausted from taking care of her elven companion. She hoped for some relief in some way, shape, or form, when they arrived at Triss'. 

As they approached the gate to the inner city, Ciri became concerned as she saw two guards and a man with a large book wearing a silly, yet official looking hat standing under the entrance archway, examining the traffic. There was no way to blend in with the crowd and mosey their way through considering the rigid methods of gaining access to the city.

“Halt!” the man with the book boomed.

“You there, with the hood. Step to the side please” he commanded, motioning with his finger.

“What seems to be the problem?” asked Ciri.

“I need to see this woman's papers”

“What papers, why would she need papers” Ciri exclaimed as he ignored her.

“Ma’am, please remove your hood.”

Iespeth looked at him and then back at Ciri. It was clear she realized there was something wrong and she made an appropriate facial expression to match that of her companion’s.

“She doesn’t speak the common tongue. She doesn’t come from around here”.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I need her to remove her hood” demanded the man with the book.

Ciri's first instinct was to move her hand to the hilt of her sword, but controlled her impulse as she knew it would bring nothing. She also noticed the guards on either side of the man with the book tense up. It would be easy to make this quick, but she knew it would cause problems that none of them needed. Besides, she would merely be a brute if she solved all her problems in such a medieval manner. She reached over and slid Iespeth's hood off her head. The man with the book pursed his lips. p>

“As I thought. Im sorry we can’t let her in the city without papers.” p>

Ciri wasn’t sure what to do.

“You mean, because of her ears?”

“Precisely. Look we have nothing against elves here..” the man with the book said as the two guards made a disagreeing face. “...but there are simply too many of them -well, all of the elder races actually- coming up from the south. The city has no more capacity. If you wish to get her into the city you'll have to have her apply for approval from one of the asylum offices.”

“And where might the next one be?” asked Ciri.

“The nearest one is about 10 kilometers away. Follow this road northeast around the city and then go north till you see a refugee camp. You can't miss it with all the non-humans around.”

“How long will it take to get a pass once we apply for one?” inquired Ciri.

“Well, if she has a particular skill that could be useful in the city, I'd say a week or two. But considering that she doesn't even speak the common tongue...” he shrugged his shoulders while crinkling his nose at Iespeth’s stench and pursed his lips together once again causing his stupid hat to tip forward.

Ciri pulled Iespeth to the side pinching the bridge of her nose and slowly walked away from the entrance. Iespeth hesitantly put a hand on Ciri's back seeing her in distress, even though she didn't understand what was going on.

After a good while, Ciri looked up and noticed a cleanly dressed woman with light brown hair talking to the man with the book. When he seemed to get uppity with her she sternly pulled out a paper with a seal on it and handed it to him. After reading it with flared nostrils, he approached the duo.

“On order of the King's advisor Triss Merrigold, you and anyone accompanying you are to be allowed into the city.” he said addressing Ciri. 

The woman approached her smiling. She wore a simple, yellow balzarine dress fitted so as only to show the specifics of her figure when she either moved or when the wind blew. It covered her collar bones and was sleeveless. In place of metal jewelry she wore embroidered cloth bracelets and a choker. Ciri knew she was a sorceress even though the woman wasn't nearly as dolled up like most magicians she had known.

“You must be Cirilla?” she asked smiling and stretching out her hand proudly while Iespeth examined her intently.

“Yes” Ciri said reluctantly and with suspicion in her eyes. 

“I'm so excited to actually meet you,” she said taking Ciri's hand with great vigor. “To actually meet the Lady of Spa-”

“I'd rather you not mention those things here in the street,” Ciri interrupted.

“Oh, of course. How silly of me!” the girl continued with a slight blush. “It's just that you are somewhat of a cynosure to us apprentices. But, whenever we asked some of the preceptresses about you they just always hush us. You've become a bit of an intriguing mystery. You are practically the only Lodge member that we have never seen, but now you are here. I heard you fought a mage of the Wild Hunt using only a sword. Is it true that they aren't actually wraiths but elves from another world?”

“What is your name?”

“Finola. I’m from Scala. So I guess I’m Finola of Scala.”

“How old are you Finola of Scala?”

“20.”

Ciri softened her attitude when she finally accepted this woman wasn't an accomplished conniving sorceress like those of the Lodge, but a hopeful girl who spent most of her time pouring over books and scrolls yearning to become a talented mage and was finally allowed a morsel of adventure by being permitted to ensure the entry of an honored guest of Triss Merrigold. Ciri wished however to not discuss the Wild Hunt, but felt it kinder given the girls admiration to redirect the conversation instead of directly stating her disinclination. She did not want Finola turning her attention to Iespeth either; the fewer people who knew about her the better until more was known about the elf.

“Finola, don't believe everything you hear from gossip and rumors. Most often such things turn out to be false,” she broadly stated, purposefully neither confirming nor disconfirming the girl's postulation.

“How long have you been under the tutelage of Triss?” Ciri asked while grabbing Iespeth's arm. They began to walk through the gate and into the city.

“About 3 years. I sailed with Lady Merrigold to Kovir from Novigrad when the Witch hunters were after people like us.”

“You escaped Novigrad with Triss? That means you must know Geralt of Rivia. I had heard he helped her and many others leave the city, but he never told me much more. Perhaps you could fill me in?”

It was a lie. Ciri had heard the unabridged version from both Triss and Geralt, but she had to keep the young apprentice talking until they reached Triss' house.

As they walked through the crowded summer capital of Kovir, Ciri haphazardly listened to Finola's tale of the brave witcher Geralt and the heroine of mages, Triss Merrigold. She prattled on about how she wasn't allowed to wear metal or any jewelry with stones and lamented the fact that she still had difficulty finding magical intersections.

In any other circumstance Ciri might have sympathized more with the girl and tried giving some advice, but at this point she was more concerned about not losing Iespeth amongst the mass of people. Iespeth looked everywhere except where she was walking. She seemed highly intrigued by a group of musicians playing a catchy tune composed of drums, flutes and a lute. When they passed a stretch of food vendors selling tasty morsels from roasted duck thighs on a stick to breaded and fried summer squash, Iespeth inhaled deeply through her nose and licked her lips. Once, a vendor even tried offering her a bauble at which point Ciri promptly intervened and shooed the man away.

“Come on, you” Ciri said while increasing her grip on Iespeth's arm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

Usually when Ciri had visited Triss she had met her at her personal home, but this time Finola led them to what was once an old bank. When the new Koviri bank had been built 2 years prior to accommodate the city's swelling coffers, the old building had been renovated and turned into a new magicians academy. King Thyssen of Kovir knew the benefit of having mages in his arsenal of resources, particularly when his southern neighbor -ruled by King Radovid the Stern- had none. A healthy stock of alchemists and healers dispersed amongst the population never hurt as well. Along with being his personal advisor, he had put Triss in charge of “creating the greatest magical academy since Aretuza”. It was hardly that and paled in comparison to what Aretuza and Ban Aard once were. 

“Come in” Triss said putting down her quill when she heard a knock.

When she saw Ciri, Iespeth and Finola come in, she smiled.

“Thank you Finola that will be all.”

Compared to many grand places inhabited by powerful enchanters such as Miss Merigold, the study was rather plain. The walls, instead of being decorated with exquisite tapestries, were lined with tall shelves containing hundreds of books. In the one free corner where the shelves desisted, stood the obligatory megascope placed upon a simple wool rug. In the center of the room was a large plain writing desk of mahogany consisting of 4 legs and a tabletop at which Triss sat in a padded bergère. Atop the surface were various pieces of parchment, quills and ink. On the right side was a copper bowl of replacement crystals for the megascope and on the left a crystal bowl filled with ripe red apples.

As soon as the young magician left Triss' office and closed the door, Triss promptly stood up and went over to Ciri for a hug.

“Little Sis'! It's so good to see you!”

“Triss! I can't tell you how good it is to be here. I almost thought we wouldn't make it into the city until your...whatever she is showed up. But, how did you...”

“Know? You don't remain adviser to a king without knowing what goes on in his kingdom.” The red-headed enchantress had kept an eye out for Ciri as she had feared the guards might be wary of letting a witcher into the city. She hadn't expected a member of an Elder race to be the problem. 

“I kept a few of my best students on the lookout including Finola. Ones who could be trusted to be alone in the city without supervision. But to be honest I didn't expect you to be bringing someone,” Triss said looking at Iespeth trying to ignore the stench of vomit that she carried on her over-sized clothes.

Iespeth immediately and enthusiastically stretched out her hand towards the red-headed mage.

“And so outgoing too!” Triss remarked taking her hand. “How do you do? I'm Triss Merrigold.”

“You needn't bother. She can't speak. Well, she can't even seem to understand any language I know of. That's actually why I brought her here...” 

Ciri took a seat opposite to where Triss was sitting and told her the the whole story from how she found Iespeth to their journey here. She listed every single minute detail hoping that might give Triss an idea where to start. Triss listened intently.

“I'll see what I can do. I suggest we start the tests this afternoon after you've had a chance to rest.” 

Ciri took that as invitation to grab two ripe apples off of Triss' desk and gave one to Iespeth who was watching the two women. She was always watching, analyzing. Ciri then carelessly slung her tired feet onto the footrest belonging to her uncomfortable chair.

“It's too bad you didn't arrive a day later, well maybe it is actually a good thing you arrived when you did. I'm having some important guests this evening. It would be nice if you joined us for dinner sans Iespeth of course.”

“Oh?” Ciri said with her mouth full of apple. “Who might be coming?”

“Roedskilde who has been teaching here, Cynthia who runs Nagreaux in Nilfgaard, Stregobor who sits on the King's council, Anisse and Berthold who came with me from Novigrad, Istredd,”

“All mages, huh? I suppose that's to be expected from someone in your position”. Triss knew Ciri wasn't fond of most mages particularly after how she had been treated in the past by a particular set of them, which is why she found it hard to mention the name of the last guest.

“Rita will also be there,” Triss forced herself to say.

“Rita? As in Margarita Laux-Antille, a senior member of the Lodge of Sorceress, ex head-mistress of Aretuza? I _magically_ seem to have lost my appetite. Dinner no longer sounds all that appealing.” she said putting the half-eaten apple demonstratively on Triss' desk although her stomach ached for more. Ciri always was one to let herself suffer to make a point. 

“Actually it's called the Lodge of Sorcery now. We decided if we were to survive, we need not be picky about the sex of our members. But the inner circle is still composed of the remaining seven. They hold all decisive power and you _are_ technically a member of the inner circle, which you agreed to when that particular Lodge helped us fight an army of elven super warriors.”

“So what, is Phillipa coming too?” Ciri despised that woman. The moment you thought she was helping you was the moment Miss Eilhardt had already had you serving her plots and machinations for quite some time. Duplicitous was too simple of a word to describe her. Ciri began fiddling with one of her finger nails as the thought of that woman was agitating.

“No. She won't be coming. It's actually rather amusing. She was so pleased to get Yennefer out of the picture and secure her position next to Emyr. But then he died. I suspect she helped his conspirators assassinate him, hoping she could influence the the new emperor into taking off the sorcerers' short leash. But we'll never know for certain. However, if that was her intention Miss Eilhardt miscalculated. Every other mage in Nilfgaard has significanty more freedom except her. Officially she is the chief magical advisor to the Emperor Voorhis, but effectively she has as much influence as a back hoe to a mountain of granite.”

Ciri wasn't sure if the pun was intended.

“I'm not sure how he keeps her in check, but she rarely answers when matters of the Lodge are discussed and when she does it’s like...well let’s just say, it just doesn’t seem characteristic of one so accomplished as to having once controlled a dragon.” Triss adjusted an azure pendant hanging down from her neck threatening to plunge into the depths of her bosom. She hoped Ciri wouldn't be offended by her mention of her dead father. Ciri wasn't and continued fidgeting with her nail till a small section splintered off.

“I invited Rita here because I need someone to run this school. Keeping track of so many things going on in Kovir, advising Thyssen, and now trying to manage this huge endeavor. I'm not doing a very good job. I'm good with politics, great with people, but teaching children and teenagers for whom it is vital to get a handle on their abilities is not my strong point. I'm spread too thin and I need a powerful mage who can be trusted with such an undertaking. I need this academy to be put into good hands. I need Rita.”

Ciri continued picking at her newly achieved hang nail. “Why would I need to be there then?”

“Rita is reluctant. Believe it or not she never was much of one for politics, but running a school for mages tends to drag you into it sooner or later. Ever since Undvik she's been even less active than Phillipa when it comes to Lodge matters even though all senior members approve of her taking up the role. Cynthia says she teaches the occasional class at Nagreaux, but mostly just travels to various provinces of Nilfgaard tending to unwanted pregnancies of noble women and helping noble men with their fertility difficulties. A bit of a contradiction I suppose. It was all I could do to convince her to come here and talk about the position. I'm hoping with your presence she might be persuaded to continue doing what she is good at. I'm hoping she will remember when seeing you why it is so important for those with magical capabilities to have a place to go…to have a place to learn. Magic is necessary for our future.” 

The tear in her nail was close to the skin and becoming painful, but Ciri kept plucking at it wondering whose future she meant. “Apart from you and Yen I haven't seen any of them in years. Francesca and Ida in nearly a decade. What point would there be in me starting now? They are still just interested in my abilities and as much as they say they won't they will always try to control me. Even if Rita isn't interested in politics, she still talks to the others. She will still give them information, however innocently she means it, that they will find a way to use. They'll connive and plot in their luxury saunas while drinking wine and pouring perfumed water over their magically perfected tits. Those are the sorceresses and sorcerers I know!” Ciri stated with conviction eyelids tensely open. She softened her face and sighed. “Well, minus the tits on the sorcerers” she corrected herself.

“Ciri, this is your chance to influence the mages in power. I don't like how most of them are. The Brotherhood, the Chapter, the Lodge...just a bunch of scheming bastards grasping for power. It could be different. It was supposed to be different. But despotism got in the way. The whole point of these organizations was to keep the peace among nations and protect magic. And all that came of it were pogroms, assassinations, revolts, war. The Lodge of Sorcery needs people like you making their voice heard. They need those who do not want power, who would give up everything for the preservation of life to make a difference.” Triss tried to remain composed and not sound desperate. She knew this was asking a lot of Ciri.

“I'm sorry Triss, I just can't.”

“I understand. Well, let's see what we can find out about your elf friend.” Triss said worrying whether or not she alone could convince Rita of becoming headmistress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Aretuza and Ban Ard were magic academies for girls and boy respectively. In “The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt” it is confirmed that Radovid had his soldiers and witch hunters destroy Aretuza. I assume since Ban Ard was in Kaedwen which Radovid invaded, it too was destroyed.  
> 2\. Nagreaux is the name of a magic academy in Nilfgaard that I made up. To my knowledge the name of a magic academy was never mentioned in the books or the games. I figured they must have one since they have quite a few mages.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

The din of the city had died down since the sun had set. Most people had retired to the either a tavern or to their homes. Even in the summer some of the nights could become chilly in Pont Vanis, which meant people were more active in their homes than most other urban areas. Ciri pulled back the curtain blocking the view into the washroom from the streets and peered out the open window. She listened to the sounds of the now serene city. The mistress of a nobleman cried out in fake throws of passion as a she was humped like a rabbit. A cat hissed followed by the bark of a dog. A drunken maiden giggled at what was probably a terrible joke from her beau trying to seem clever. She closed the window as the crisp chilly air gave her goosebumps.

“Remind me again why she needs to be in the water for these spells to work?” asked Ciri admiring the elegance of the washroom. 

“It has nothing to do with being in water. It's about being tranquil. I figured a hot bath might be the best way of going about it since we can't just ask her to try and relax. It's not that it won't work if she isn't, but the series of tests I'd like to run procure better results if she is.”

The tub Iespeth was sitting in was a rather large copper construction with completely smooth sides. It had enough space for two or three people. Such a commodity wasn't necessarily considered a wealthy man's luxury in a country like Kovir with its rich copper deposits in its vast mountain ranges. What made this tub particularly special and fit for a head rectoress at a school of sorcery were the intricate runes lining the outside walls which kept any water contained in it at just above the average body temperature. Naturally, any accomplished mage could summon hot water, but it was a rather taxing spell to perform, particularly after an exhausting day. 

Iespeth was clearly enjoying herself. To make the experience more soothing, Triss added some lavender and geranium oils from her personal stores and gave the elf a large sponge which she became quickly fond of.

“There is one caveat. Most of the tests I'd like to do have primarily been developed for humans. I've never performed any of them on an elf. I have heard an elf's anatomy is different from ours even though it has quite a few similarities. For example, their hearts and kidneys are almost exactly the same, but their endo- and exocrine system function very differently from our own. The theory is that that is why they generally don't become infertile due to magic and age much slower. It's rumored that some accomplished elven mages can even stop their aging process completely by controlling their glands. Seeing as how old your friend Avallac'h is, I wouldn't doubt this to be true.”

Ciri scoffed at the suggestion that Avallac'h was her friend and politely nodded though rather bored by Triss' scientific lecture on elves, which she figured became a professional force of habit. She noticed Iespeth listening intently examining Triss' face and mouth as she continued to talk.

“At any rate, there actually isn't that much information on elven anatomy much less their magic. At least not available to humans. The elves are, to understate it, very secretive about their knowledge.”

Triss rested her chin on her fist and thought for a moment. Ciri watched Triss waiting for what she would do. Perhaps because neither of the two were talking, Iespeth put her head under the water and began swirling around the tub like an excited goose in a pond. Both Ciri and Triss became soaked.

“Ugg, dammit Iespeth!” Ciri yelled snatching Iespeth's arm and pulling her head above the water's surface. She gave the elf a disproving shake of the head.

“It is like taking care of a child!” Ciri shrieked.

“Let's just proceed” Triss said trying to stifle a giggle. She found it rather amusing considering how much of a handful Ciri was as a young girl. She remembered a few of her puckish pranks she sometimes pulled on all who helped raise her such as the time she switched the enchantress' perfume with sword oil.

Ciri placed both her hands on Iespeth's shoulders firmly holding her in place.

“Triss is going to run some tests...perform a few spells”. Ciri turned to Triss, “I don't know why I talk to her. It's become an unshakable habit”. Triss merely smiled.

“The first test I'm going to do is send a simple impulse into her body. Sometimes if one has magical abilities the sender gets an echo back. This method isn't perfect though. Just because no echo is received does not mean they haven't a trace of magic like was the case with you. I'll need skin to skin contact”. Triss offered her hand to Iespeth who, smiling as usual, obliged. Nearly as soon as she sent the wave of magical energy did she receive a reflection. She pulled her hand away and shook it a few times trying to get rid of the burning sensation that the echo caused. The feeling perplexed her since a positive result generally resulted in a tingle and not a burn.

“Well, she definitely has something going on there, though I'm not sure what. I honestly can't say whether it's normal or not. I want to check her body for any old injuries or scarring and see if I can't determine her age”

“Laecht na digit” she commanded while holding her hand to her mouth causing the tips of the fingers on her right hand to glow with a dull white light. She poked her lit fingers on various points of Iespeth's body and held her left hand opposite to it.

“Her vocal chords seem to be in order, so there is no reason why she never makes a sound.” Triss reported. When she arrived at Iespeths abdomen, Iespeth became agitated until a soothing smile and nod from Ciri calmed her down. She continued prodding the elf.

“Hmm. Nothing. But...never mind” Triss said trailing off.

“What?” Ciri said.

“It's nothing really, but I suspect this spell doesn't work for age approximation on elves considering the result was that she is at least 3 to 6 weeks old and at most a year. Considering her obviously matured body parts” Triss said glancing at Iespeth's small but fully developed breasts, “I'd say that's a bit imprecise.”

“But only a bit.” jested Ciri. Iespeth looked at her hands and noticed they had become pruned. She showed Ciri concerned and Ciri explained that that happens when one is too long in the water. Of course the now clean-elf didn't understand, but Ciri explained anyways.

“Just two more tests and then we're done. I'm going to take advantage of the fact that she is in the water and try some hydromancy just to see.”

“Greame et dwyr! Rhobeir'me gelle a failte! Greame et dwyr! Deagnis cair-Ile ess pyr'shena a et cleytte!” Triss bellowed, her voice bellowed taking on an echoing effect.

The water began to glow causing all three women to look. The longer the spell went on, the brighter the surface of the water became. Triss looked intently trying to make out any shape or form. Eventually the water became so bright that the enchantress could no longer bear the intense piercing light and snapped her fingers into a fist breaking off the spell. She scratched the palm of her hand.

“You alright?” asked Ciri.

“It's nothing. With my allergies...” she said showing Ciri the redness, “some spells cause irritation.”

“Well my clean little elf, now that you smell good, you're almost free of my poking and prodding.” Triss pulled out an amulet from her pocket. It was an amulet Ciri recognized.

“Ciri, I think you know what I'm about to do.” Triss warned. Ciri nodded her head though she did not look pleased.

“Don't worry, it won't be nearly as intrusive as it was with you. It's just a stronger form of telepathy, I won't contact her psychically. Remember, if either of us suffer an epileptic fit you know what to do.” Triss held the amulet to Iespeth's brow, closed her eyes in concentration and murmured the formula of the spell.

She was expecting thoughts perhaps even images, but she wasn't prepared for the full blown onslaught of her senses. _No thoughts, nor feelings. Sensations. Chaos. Searing heat pushing away the cold, eardrum-breaking sour notes, light and lighter building blinding. 'Too much. Stop. Pain.'_

 _'Get out.'_ Triss thought. _'It hurts. GET OUT!'_ Triss violently jerked the amulet away from the elf who had in the meantime closed her eyes. The sorceress' head was in pain. She'd never experienced anything like it. She surmised that going into the head of someone with no structure, no similarity to her own synaptic patterns was due to a complete brain wipe. After all, it had once been painful to go into Geralt's addled brain after he had been found outside Kaer Mohren so many years ago. But that wasn't it. How could the enchantress know though? How could anyone know?

“Are you alright? What happened?” asked Ciri. From her perspective it had only been a few minutes and didn't seem like an ordeal.

“I'm not sure. I...I'm not sure I can describe what just happened, what I saw, no, felt. It was...unstructured, completely disordered.” Triss paused for a moment. “It was like being completely bombarded by pure chaos. When we found Geralt years ago outside of Kaer Mohren, not knowing who he was, his thoughts were rather disheveled. But not like that. There were parts that were organized, all having at least a scrap of sense. I think your friend here may have complete amnesia. I conjecture that’s what caused this. She must have lost her ability to speak, her memories, even the neural networks controlling her motor skills were probably no longer there. When you found her she basically had the mind of an infant.”

“That explains quite a bit”, Ciri stated thinking back to that peculiar night. “Well, at least she doesn't bawl like an infant. What could cause such severe brain damage?”

“Not damage. Her brain still functions normally. It's more of a reset. Perhaps a powerful spell caused it, but I suppose extreme stress or a traumatic experience _could_ start a process that restructures the brain. 'The mind does marvelous things to protect itself' I once heard somewhere.”

Triss looked pale and rather exhausted. She slowly rose from the side of the tub using her hands to push herself up. 

“If you'll pardon me now, I need to get ready for this evening” she said trying to hide her exhaustion.

“Of course.” Ciri replied.

As Triss walked through the door she slightly wavered and placed her left hand on the door frame to stabilize herself. She rubbed the columella of her nose wiping a bit of blood onto her finger, looked at it and kept walking. As well as Triss tried to hide the toll the ordeal had taken on her, Ciri had a talent for noticing such subtleties.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

Chapter 7

The day had started as any ordinary day. Nathaen and his daughter woke up shortly before daybreak, ate a meager meal of berries and sat off to work. The work however was different. It had become different since the ashen-haired Witcheress had for some reason left pouches of seeds and a book on farming. He didn’t know that this book had been issued by the very queen who had allowed the elves to settle on Undvik and was free to every farmer in the Isles. He didn’t know that Queen Cerys had commissioned the ashen-haired Witcheress to bring the seeds and book to them. He didn’t know the political ramifications the Queen might face if she were to have openly given them these gifts, which is why she had hired someone she knew personally who was not from Skellige. One thing he did know was this offering might mean more than mere survival for the elves on Undvik.

No longer was every member of the village a gatherer and fisher. Now more than half of them, including himself, set off with a shovel and a rake towards the fields instead of with a basket into the woods or a net to the seas. They worked in the field until the sun left the sky and spent their evenings in the tavern Nathaen’s daughter, Yaennin, now ran by herself.

She always made a tasty fish stew for the patrons, who in turn gave her legumes, seaweed, berries, roots and whatever else they could scrounge up as payment. Payment wasn’t truly the right word though since even those with nothing would get something to eat and drink without expectancy of compensation. After all, the farmers working in the field had no time to gather tidbits from the forests and beaches, but their payoff might possibly be the greatest for everyone in the long run. Since their barely populated society was almost completely isolated from the mainlanders, it was necessary for them to live more socially.

Nathaen was rather impressed at how innovative his daughter had become with brewing and distilling beverages from whatever berries and roots came her way. _Such creativity must have come from her mother_ , he thought, opening his book on farming as he let his bowl of fish stew cool off after a hard day’s work. 

After the two Witchers had taken the strange she-elf with them, he occasionally worried that someone might come. He remembered watching his wife lose her head because she had sold a necklace to Lady de Brankfurtt the day she had been 'uncovered' as a Nilfgaardian spy. Whether or not she was a spy was unknown, but that never mattered to witch hunters. Circumstance and association were very dangerous for all non-humans even before Radovid and his Church of the Flaming Rose began their crusade. Recently though, nothing took Nathaen's mind off of fearful imaginations of what could happen or who could come because of recent events, like reading about the correct spacing of potato tubers and how rove beetles, with their black and tan bodies and voracious appetite for pests, are a welcomed guest for your crops. He certainly wasn’t prepared for the guest that had been drawn to their little village. 

He was so preoccupied that even when the tavern went silent, he didn’t notice the stranger who had come in. It wasn’t until he began speaking to Yaennin did he finally take notice.

The man was very tall and wearing such elegant clothes which Nathaen could, in his limited understanding of fashion, only describe as robes. His head was covered with a cowl that left his face free, but unfortunately hardly visible in the dim light. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for strangers to come into the tavern, but never ones as grand such as he.

“What do you offer?” the man asked, in a deep lulling voice standing before Yaennin with only the counter to separate them.

“Fish stew and a blackberry current to wash it down with,” replied Yaennin, nervously.

The man looked around the tavern noticing the shoddy construction. Yaennin couldn’t tell if he was turning up his nose or feeling sorry for the Aen Seidhe and what little they had. 

“A single portion will suffice,” he said dropping a few gold pieces on the counter.

Yaennin’s eyes became very large, “I’m sorry Sir; I can’t make change for that amount. If you’ll accept…”

“That won’t be necessary. The gold. For the food and drink,” he interrupted, sliding the coins closer to Yaennin.

“I’ll bring it to you where you sit if it pleases you,” she said, trying to sound eloquent.

He strode confidently and methodically to the only empty table in the room which Yaennin took to mean 'yes'. She promptly ladled out a generous portion of stew and filled the most in-tact mug she had to the brim. She spryly made her way over to her esteemed guest careful not to spill a drop.

He studied her intently while she carefully placed his food before him.

“Can I do anything else for you Sir?” she asked unsure how else to address him.

“Converse with me for a moment,” he said, motioning for her to take the seat across from him. She sat down obediently, feeling she had no right to refuse any request considering his generous payment. She got up the courage to look into his face finding it peculiar that despite the candle between the two, his features still seemed shrouded in shadows. 

“Tell me about your village.” Every request he made seemed like a polite, but indeclinable order. 

As she told the man about how she and her fellow elves came to the island Undvik he watched as she progressively quit fiddling with her fingers. He noticed that her breathing slowed and her pupils contracted. Even the sweat beads that had accumulated on her forehead had dissipated. He took note that every other guest in the tavern had returned to their conversation except one. Though his name was of no value to the hooded man, he found the male elf's attention to his conversation partner curious. Her talkative nature gave him time to finish his food and drink which he did trying not to appear overly conspicuous.

“Are you a traveler?” Yaennen asked without taking a pause after finishing her tale.

“I suppose one could call me that, though I know _some_ who travel far more sophisticatedly than I do,” he replied.

She wasn't sure what to make of his response, but thought she caught a kind of smirk when he said it.

“Is that gentleman with the book your kin?” he questioned.

“My father. He is probably wondering where you are from and what you are doing here” she prodded hoping to get an answer.

After a short pause he vaguely inquired, “I have heard strange phenomena occur on this isle on occasion. Tell me, have there been such peculiar events lately?” 

She immediately became nervous again. 

_Pupils dilated. Heavy breathing. Hands tense. A desire to fidget, but trying to hide it. Hide what. She knows something._

“You mean like a monster attack?” she asked hoping to derail him.

The man smiled, that much she could tell. Whether it was a smug smile of accomplishment or a grin of thinking he had found success was not something she could determine. 

“Yes, like a monster attack,” he affirmed.

She was proud of herself, _thinking_ she had fooled the hooded man, but he was not easily fooled. He already had all the information he needed for the time being and saw no sense in pressing her further. There were other less drastic methods of finding the information one needed.

“There was a beast. Rather big at that. With horns. But we elves...our hunters are good with bows. They took the beast down. Not a man harmed. We cut it up and I made it into a stew. Worst meal we'd had in months,” Yaennen lied. “It might seem draconian, but we have to do what we can to get by”.

“That you do Seidhe. That you do,” the hooded man said, rising from his bench. “It's time I am on my way. May the rough waters shelter you from the storm. Va'fail,” he said somewhat sorrowfully.

She had no idea what he meant, but couldn't help but question his decision to leave in the night. “But...it's dark. There is nowhere to go.”

The hooded man ignored her, ducking his head and bending elegantly to fit his tall stature through the door closing it quietly behind him.

When Yaennin moved to go after him, she felt the strong callused hands of her father on her shoulders.

“Let him leave. It's best this way. Be happy he didn't investigate further. We'll talk more later,” Nathen whispered, relieved that nothing had happened.

*

That the hooded man had come looking for the she-elf, Nathaen and his daughter were sure of--so sure in fact, that they could never have conceived another possibility.

“Who do you think he was?” Yaennen asked her father with her hands full of empty earthen ware. She carried the heap over to a wooden tub filled with sea water and washed the dishes using beach sand to scrub off anything coarse that remained. It hardly seemed necessary since everyone who ate at her tavern always cleaned their plates thoroughly, but Yaennin was a stickler for cleanliness.

“Someone we'd best not get mixed up with. But you did well. That quip about the monster may have saved us a lot of trouble. As soon as he realized we were a dead end of information, he left. Did you notice that?”

“Hmm”, she said, unsure. “But do you think he was a mage? I mean, I have never met a mage but he seemed to talk like what I imagine a mage talks like. The circumstances are unfortunate. I always wanted to meet a mage,” she asked while opening all the windows. The tavern became rather stuffy in the summers with so many guests, and letting a bit of the cool sea air flow through in the evenings kept it pleasant smelling. As she opened the last window near the door, she noticed a large grey moth fly in and settle on the wall. It made her smile.

“He could have been a spy. What if he was spying for the Land of the Free Elves? For Dol Blathanna? Or maybe that woman is wanted in somewhere. Somewere like Redania.” Nathaen shuddered at the thought. “But mage, spy or bounty hunter it's best that we kept our promise to the ashen-haired vatt'ghern to keep quiet should anyone come asking about her.”

Yaennin nodded. She proceeded to blow out all the candles save one and shut the windows. Before she made her way over to the last set of shutters, she scooped up the moth from the wall.

“Out you go little one. We've closed.” she said playfully, tossing the winged creature out into the night.

By the time the critter found its bearings in the soft sea breeze the last candle of the tavern had been blown out. It fluttered its wings, gaining height until most of the island was visible. After spotting a certain grove of trees, it skillfully made its way down to a small clearing. There, sitting upright in a large pool of moonlight was the hooded man with his eyes closed. As the moth came closer he stretched out his hand allowing his creation to gracefully land. Almost as soon as he shot his lids open did the moth dissolve into a puff of smoke, the spell having been ended. The man's aquamarine eyes reflected deeply in the moonlight.

“Zirael” was the only word he spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Nathaen and Yaennin are characters I created. Nathaen is Yaennin's father. They were first introduced in Chapter 1.
> 
> 2: Lady de Brankfurtt is a noble woman that I also made up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

After Ciri had also bathed, she and Iespeth were shown their chambers where they would spend the night. It was a standard dormitory room with all the basic amenities that was nearest the headmistress' quarters. She felt a bit bad that some student was forced to share a room with a classmate because of her and Iespeth. Triss hadn't had time to take them to her home in lieu of guests who would be arriving shortly.

Ciri sat down in front of the vanity and began combing out her wet, long, ashen hair. It had become irritatingly tangled in the past weeks and she thought about taking the simple wooden comb with her, knowing whoever it belonged to could easily get a new one. Looking in the mirror, she could see Iespeth sitting on the bed in a wool robe and a pair of lamb-skin slippers, watching as she yanked the comb in and out of her ashen hair. It wasn't the most glamorous apparel, but even mages adorned such attire in private, considering how cold the nights could get in Kovir. 

When Ciri finished, Iespeth walked over to her holding out her hand for the comb. After what the witcheress had learned about circumstances in which Iespeth found herself in, she felt a bit more tender towards the elf. How could it possibly feel, being in the body of a fully mature woman and having the intellect of a toddler? Instead of giving her the comb, Ciri stood up and patted the seat where she had previously sat. Iespeth took a seat, grinning until she saw the mirror. As Ciri started working on her tangled blonde hair which had curled up after being cleaned, Iespeth poked and prodded her own cheeks and fondled her nose. As the comb pulled back the hair covering her ears, Iespeth noticed them for the first time. She fumbled the earlobe then traced the outline of the auricle ending on the tip, pulling it away from her head and letting it go with a flutter. Iespeth looked at Ciri, who was finishing up on her last tangled strand.

“Ears. I have them too,” Ciri said, pulling her wet hair to the side. “The only difference is that you have pointy ears because you're an elf. And I'm...well mostly not elf,” Ciri said, wondering if Iespeth now understood the important role the hood she was often forced to wear had played. Ciri finished grooming Iespeth and put her into the bed pulling the covers up to her chin.

After Iespeth had fallen asleep, Ciri finally had some time to think. Sleeping wouldn't be possible anyway, since her little elf had sprawled out, taking over the whole bed. 

She thought about what she and Triss had talked about. Triss: the sorceress who had possibly injured herself trying to help Ciri with a friend simply because she asked her to. And Ciri turned her down. She turned down a friend who needed help just as she did, not a conspiring witch who was doing a favor and expecting to be compensated for it one way or another. 

It was true she would always be wary of mages and their motives, but that didn't mean she had to be controlled by them. She was no longer a child and knew what game they played, knew how many of them ticked. How bad could a single evening be with them? And Triss was right; not all of them played that game. There were those who wished for the world to be better, putting aside their desire of personal gain for the greater good. Triss herself, even Yen at times...and Rita. Yes. Even wickedly beautiful Margarita Laux-Antille, who had always put the good of her students first, who had returned to Ban Aard amidst a war to protect them, who was tortured and nearly burned at the stake for them, was one of those people. She couldn't let this opportunity slip. _Just this once she thought, this one time I'll play the role of a senior Lodge sorceress._

Ciri figured at this point the mages were holding full wine glasses and pretending to enjoy hors d'oeuvres. Ciri knew what these events were like: little was eaten or drunk. Consuming food was considered a social indiscretion and would be avoided at all costs. Her stomach grumbled, craving whatever they might end up eating. She opened the wardrobe, pulled out the first dress she could find and put it on. _What are you getting yourself into_ , she thought, looking at herself in the mirror.

*

“You mean because of soothsayers or some mages' ability of divination?”

Ciri stood around the corner just shy of sight, listening to the conversation. She told herself that she was waiting for the right moment to enter the dining room, but truth be told it was nervousness that barred her entrance. 

“While you do you have a point dear Cynthia, that's not really what I was getting at. A soothsayer’s foretelling of the events to occur is not what I mean about predicting the future. Such vague ramblings are always open to infinite amounts of interpretation and are rarely useful. Some divinations are even self-fulfilling. It takes a truly accomplished savant to accurately decipher such riddles. No, what I mean by ‘capability of making predictions’ is the observation of the natural world, formulation of a theory based on that observation, and the subsequent application of said theory to predict outcomes.”

Roedskilde continued, “Consider a simple farmer; his forefathers have observed that every year progresses in a similar manner. At the end of winter comes spring. The snow melts, the days become longer, plants sprout, and animals give birth. Then comes summer where the plants reach their apex and the livestock grow fat. In autumn the plants bear their fruit. Then comes the winter again. Every year is the same with some small variations. He uses this pattern, this theory -even though he may not even know what the word 'theory' means-”

The other guests, excluding Triss who was strangely quiet, gave a brief chuckle.

“He uses it to make a prediction about the future so as to grow crops and have meat, to feed himself and his family. He has observed nature and forced it to serve him. But let's take a more familiar case for those such as us: we have the ability to study nature at depths no one else can. Mages have developed methods to observe the unseen and use that to bend nature to our will. We can call upon lightning on a day with clear skies. We can mend bones and tissue a faster rate than they naturally can. If need be we can even cause immense pain to our enemies without physically damaging them. We can bend nature to our will, force it to acquiesce to our desires in a way that no animal ever could. Moreover, we can, through our capability of communication of rather intricate ideas, impart this knowledge to our successors, freeing them to explore further secrets of the natural world. And that is why we humans are the superior species on the Continent.”

“And what of elves?” Ciri asked after taking a deep breath finally getting up the gumption to enter.  
“I'm not so sure I'd cluster them with animals nor would I label them as inferior to humans. Please forgive my tardiness; I've been on the path the past 6 months and I simply had to get the wretched stench out of my hair!” she said trying to sound confident and remarkable. 

Triss sat at the head of the table, who widened her eyes when she saw Ciri. Rita sat to her immediate right. The other mages sat on the long sides of the rectangular dinner table. The only seat free was the other head of the table opposite Triss. Ciri, as gracefully as possible in her spontaneously borrowed dress, took a seat. Her eyes widened when she saw the ostentatious arrangement of food. Rack of lamb with a white wine and honey glaze, fennel quarters wrapped in thick, peppered bacon, boiled lobster with a saffron butter sauce, and rolled aubergines stuffed with herbed goat cheese were amongst a few of the delicacies arranged ornately on the table.

“We are the dominant species,” Roedskilde spatted, possibly having felt insulted by being challenged by one so young as Ciri.

“That may be. But we are by no means _superior_. Let us not forget it was the elves who taught the first humans on the Continent how to harness the essence of Chaos after the Conjunction of Spheres. It was they who taught us how to use magic. Unless, of course, you've forgotten your history.”

Ciri smiled when she heard a stifled snicker to her left. She initially felt proud of her jab at the man, seeing as he was the oldest person at the table, until she realized she may have gone too far. She would have to contain the damage.

“You are, of course, right about why humans are among some of the most powerful species. It is, however, due to different circumstances in which elves, dwarves and gnomes find themselves in less dominant positions to humans on the Continent.”

Roedskilde raised his full glass, smiling, gave a polite nod, and took a sip. She returned in kind, hoping his action was an acceptance of her apology.

Nothing was said after their exchange, which Ciri found rather odd. Triss looked particularly pale and had circles under eyes which she had tried to conceal with some of her many ointments, creams and make-up.

As the silence continued, Ciri watched the other mages push their food around their plates, having only taken perhaps 2 or 3 bites. _I told myself I would play their game but such frivolousness is pointless._

“Berthold, I understand you have been instructing alchemy at the academy?” she politely asked filling her plate with lamb and aubergine. She wanted to slowly steer the conversation towards the school and show its desperate need for quality teachers, of which Berthold was not. “Tell me a bit about your progress,” Ciri commanded, aggressively tearing off a large hunk of meat from the lamb ribs with her fork and shoving it in her mouth.

By the time Berthold finished boring them all with an in-depth explanation of the 'complicated' art of distilling wormroot extract - which was a task that any half-wit could complete - did Ciri notice that everyone except Rita had followed her lead and by now had cleaned their plates.

“Thank you Berthold; that was most instructional” she said, looking at Rita, trying to only show a subtle hint of sarcasm. Rita pretended not to notice.

“That is very kind, Cirilla. If you have time, I lecture on Tuesdays at noon. You are welcome to attend,” replied the unaccomplished alchemist.

“As much as it would please me, I must be off the day after next.” Ciri said, glad to have a legitimate excuse.

“What a pity,” answered Berthold.

The evening continued like this with Ciri trying to show how desperate the school was. 

She was able to coax out a story from Istredd about a young girl from Lan Aed — a decently sized mining village about 100 kilometers north of Lan Exeter — who supposedly had the ability to move inanimate objects with her mind. The baron of the region sent for Istredd being one of the less preoccupied sorcerers in his realm to investigate. When he arrived she was basically a vegetable. After talking with the villagers, who had claimed she had been this way after having tried to list a massive tree off of a boy on whom it had fallen, Istredd concluded she had over exerted herself causing irreparable damage to her brain. Such cases were all too common a story for those who had true potential to use magic.

Rita did not exhibit interest in the slightest, even though unbeknown to many, such stories did in fact tug at her heartstrings. As hard as Ciri tried to steer the conversation towards the school, the players at the table kept discussing taxes and levies, the refugee situation, and which nobleman was sleeping with which noblewoman. One by one the guests eventually left until only Triss, Rita, Cynthia and Ciri were remaining at the table.

Ciri tried once more to arouse Rita’s interest in the school with a pitiful anecdote.

“Ciri, I know what you are getting at. I know what Triss wants, even though for some reason she has remained mostly silent this evening. Very unlike you dear sister, I must say,” Rita said eventually turning to Triss.

“I…I performed a rather taxing spell today,” answered Triss, attempting to defend herself.

“If you say so, dear. But I know how taxing it is to run a school. It truly takes a lot out of you, and advising a king on top of that. Oof! No wonder you look so dreadful, dear Triss.” From anyone else that statement would have been taken as an insult, but from Rita it was one of blunt compassion. “I know you and the other Lodge members want me to take over. But I'm not...I can't.”

“I think it only fair then that I ask for an explanation,” Ciri demanded, trying to force Rita to say something she could work with.

“Being the headmistress of a school was wonderful. Seeing a young lady successfully draw power from an intersection for the first time or when making a potion that takes days to prepare and smiles when it comes out just right...there is no way to describe the feeling. I cared for my students. I did as much as I could to keep them out of politics, keep them safe. But my girls were still tortured and executed before my very eyes, and I couldn't save them. They died because we practice magic. I won't abandon magic, but I won't put others in the same situation that my girls were in. I won't have others tortured because of what we do. I refuse to be the cause of death to others.”

“And the fact that young gifted girls and boys are often doomed to die when they don't get the training they need? Have you seen what most country dullards do to them?” Ciri replied.

Rita didn't respond and simply hardened her face.

Ciri thought about what to say next. She had to convince her to do this. Ideas of arguments ran through her head. Magic was dying. There was a mere handful of powerful sorcerers and sorceresses left. She hated many of the things that some of them had done, and magic could be used for evil things yes, but there was also some good. It could cure the most devastating diseases like Keira Metz — an Aretuza alumni — had done with the Catriona plague. It could mend flesh and repair bones faster and better than the human body ever naturally could. It could bring rain to a village of farmers desperately needing a good harvest. It could...and then Ciri thought of it. She had just the argument.

“I actually found Roedskilde's lecture rather interesting. I heard the whole spiel, but stood around the corner for quite some time because I was scared of seeing a lodge member again. But that is just silliness, because as I have come to understand, the sorceresses of the Lodge are broken cowards. Ida and Francesca are hiding in the Blue Mountains and Dol Blathanna, respectively. Yennefer quit, although to be fair I can understand why; lounging around a vineyard in Toussaint is nothing less than ideal. Keira mostly gallivants around with a witcher. Philippa, as Triss tells me, seems to not be doing so well in the head.” 

“And you,” she continued, pointing at Rita, “are just fluffing around Nilfgaard not utilizing your true potential. The only one who is doing anything is the overworked Mariborian sitting across from me. But that's beside the point. Roedskilde is right. We use magic to make predictions. Magic is a process, a process to determine the facts of the natural world.”

Rita looked at her intently, not entirely sure where she was going with her speech.

Ciri continued, “Do you know what Aen Ithlinnespeath is?”

“Of course I know of Ithlinne's Prophecy,” replied Rita.

“And do you know what Tedd Deireadh is?” Ciri rhetorically asked.

Rita, along with the other sorceresses, remained silent at the table. They knew exactly what Tedd Deireadh is, or more correctly was and they knew that the ashen-haired woman sitting at this very table was the one who had prevented it. She had prevented what was believed to be an inevitable natural phenomenon.

“Who would have thought that Ithlinne's Prophecy was a prediction about what the Elder Blood, the gene that I just happen have, could be used for. Human kings thought it was their key to their domination of the Continent. Elven kings thought it was their key to leave their dying world and come to this one. But it was a mage that figured out that it could be used to destroy the White Frost and save all life. That very mage — who, by the way, once healed your bruised and wounded body — knew how my power functioned, and most importantly, taught me how to use it. People like him and Ithlinne were of course some of the greatest of their kind, but not everything they achieved was purely self-taught. They took the knowledge of others and built upon it. They were taught the basics of magic and used it to predict perhaps one of the most important events of our history. And because of that, we all live. That is why we need you, Margarita Laux-Antille. We need you to nurture and teach those such as they. I know you went through something painful, just as we all have. But everyone who lives long enough is bound to experience tragedy. We have to accept it and move on.”

Rita looked down. She saw the faces of the girls she had tried and failed to protect. She could feel her throat tightening, threatening to constrict in emotion and squeeze out the tears she was desperately trying to hold back. She knew Ciri was right. She needed to let out her pain and move on. But not in front of these women.

“I..I need a moment,” she said, quickly getting up and leaving the dining area.

She walked briskly until she found a small nook where she could let it all out. She, the great sorceress Margarita Laux-Antille, once head mistress of the greatest magical academies in the known world, slumped down on the cold stone floor and cried. It was an aggressive, powerful bawl that she desperately needed. The emotional release only took around 10 minutes, but reliving and releasing so much pain made it seem like much longer. She finally pulled herself off the floor and composed herself. She was quickly able to find a mirror in the extensive, dark hallways. After casting a minor illumination spell, she fixed her hair and tidied up her face with some emergency make-up she always had on hand.

As she approached the foyer leading to the dining hall, she noticed someone standing there, peeking around the corner, peering into the room where the other sorceresses were chattering. Whoever it was had a long wool robe and lamb-skin slippers on. It was most likely a young student overly excited to see Triss Merrigold's guests. Rita was tickled and amused.

“And what are you doing out of bed?” Rita asked.

The person spun around flailing her short blonde curls around her face. She quickly and clumsily pushed her hair out of the way and looked at Rita with her large emerald eyes. 

Rita noticed her caught spy was a she-elf, as her pointed ears made the fact hard to hide, and found it funny how very much she resembled Ciri. Rita couldn't remember the last time an elf attended a school of magic run by humans, as the Aen Seidhe tended to be very protective of their youth and particularly ones who exhibited a penchant for magic. She found the girl or woman — it was always hard to tell with elves going purely off of looks — rather curious.

“Eavesdropping on people is rather rude, you know,” Rita stated in the sweet but stern way she had often taken with her past students.

The elf cocked her head and seemed to listen intently. Then, in a manner unbecoming of such a situation, the she-elf straightened up and shot her hand out towards Rita palm open.

“You want me to shake your hand?” Rita asked finding the whole scene rather odd. She courteously obliged and gave the elf her hand. If the elf insisted on such an odd occasion of bodily contact then it seemed only fair that Rita might also send a little magical impulse just to have a feel. She felt the same mild burning sensation that Triss had felt.

“You're a queer one, aren't you? Do you not speak the common tongue? Efallai go mbeadh ath a bheith níos gyfforddus ag labhairt leis an lleferydd hen?”

As with everyone she had met before the beautiful sorceress, the elf replied with a look.

_'A pity. Such a case is all too common. Those who have a natural talent for magic often don't receive the proper training as early as they should and wind up lacking in the head. Maybe this was the girl Istredd had talked about,_ ’ Rita incorrectly surmised about the elf. It had been ages since she had seen such a case, and she had forgotten how much it touched her when she encountered such a person. It was, however, her incorrect conclusion that made her decide she needed to take the position. She would take it, but not without some stipulations.

Rita closed her fist and mumbled a spell into it. When she open her hand there was a small rose made of ice. It was a simple parlour trick pulling out the moisture from the air, condensing it and turning it solid. The trick was creating the form. Rita figured it would amuse the curious elf who had watched the act in amazment.

“Now I won't tell Miss Merrigold you were out of bed, but that means you need to return to it. Promise me you'll go straight back to your room?” she asked, offering the rose to the elf who promptly took it.

“Well then, off with you!” she said, pointing in the direction of the dormitories. The elf made her way through the dark hall, careful not to drop her treasure.

Rita decided there was no point in informing the soon-to-be ex-headmistress of the school. She figured she would find out the elf's story sooner or later when she took over and would have to decide what to do with her. Of course, since her speculations on the elf were based off of incorrect assumptions, this would never come to be.

As soon as the elf was out of sight, Rita reentered the dining room.

“I have decided to take the position. But I have some concerns,” Rita stated while taking her seat.

“From what I understand this school is free of tuition? Is that correct?” she asked.

Triss, somewhat revived by hearing that Rita would take the position, nodded her head.

“The idea is that the best, brightest, and naturally talented candidates have a place to learn magic instead of those with the financial means. Admission is based off aptitude and need, not gold,” the red-head explained.

“And who exactly is funding this school, then? Who ensures that it remains tuition free?”

“The money comes from the royal coffers.”

“Aha. So when the King, present or future, decides we do something he dislikes, he can merely blackmail us by cutting off funding?”

“I suppose you are right, Rita,” Triss admitted. 

“Having 100% protection from such an event is impossible, but we need a way to make it improbable. We must find a way to make it at least very difficult for a King to be in such direct control of the school.”

“Perhaps I could convince the King to set up some sort of trust fund at various banks. A set sum shall be payed into each account anually or biannually and in the event that a King decides to cut off funding of the school, the interest from the accounts shall be paid directly to the school. We could even pass a law that all members of the Council of Advisors have to agree to the withdrawal of funding. The crude details will have to be worked out with some of the financial ministers. That's one way to make sure the school remains out of direct control of an individual ruler,” proposed Triss.

“I have an additional idea,” Ciri began. “On top of making sure the financial needs of the school are secured, I suggest beginning an exchange program. We would of course need your help for this, Cynthia. Part of a student's studies, whether they attend Nagreaux or Koviri Academy, would be spent a few years at another school. This would force students to be exposed to a different culture and hopefully help them make friends with magic users from other countries thus by hopefully preventing a coupe like the one many of us were _privileged_ to experience on the Isle of Thanedd. We must remember that our goal of the Lodge is the progress of magic and thus holds no alliance to Empires, Kingdoms or Nations.”

Rita and Triss were very surprised at Ciri's use of the words 'we' and 'our' regarding the Lodge.

“Cynthia, could you arrange this on your end?” Ciri asked.

“I believe I could. But if I do, I would like a seat in the Lodge as a senior member. I think it only fair that sorcerers from Nilfgaard have a bit more representation considering the Lodge is a politically neutral entity. A strongly Northern-realms-skewed entity can hardly remain neutral,” Cynthia replied.

“I think it can be arranged. Your promotion to becoming senior member will be voted on at the next meeting then. Philippa will be against it, what with your history with her and all, but I dare say she shall be the only one against it,” Triss confirmed.

“Then it is settled. Margarita Laux-Antille is now the headmistress of Koviri Academy!” Ciri exclaimed, raising her full wine glass to toast her victory. All the talking that had occurred in the past few days had left her thoroughly parched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Cynthia was a character in The Witcher 2 and was a lover but also a spy of Phillippa Eilhart. She is a Nilfgaardian sorceress.  
> 2\. Istredd was a character from the books who was a lover of Yennefer and was involved in a love triangle between Yen and Geralt.  
> 3\. Roedskilde was Istredd's teacher.  
> 4\. Berthold and Anisse are involved in the quest "Now or Never" in The Witcher 3.  
> 5\. Nagreaux is a magic academy in Nilfgaard that I made up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

“I'd offer to teleport you, but...” said Triss as she, Ciri and Iespeth walked to the docks preparing to part ways. Triss had paid for both their fairs, as money was hardly an issue for her.

“Yeah. I know. Hopefully the ship will reach Hengfors quickly and then we will continue on foot the rest of the way.” 

Besides the fact that Ciri's special abilities tended to warp the portals of all but the most talented sorcerers, it would take an extensive series of teleportations for such a distance, at which Triss would need to be present, * in order to reach the vicinity of Kaer Morhen. Even then, a large portion of the way would have to be traveled by foot. Some old sorcerer, whose name had long been forgotten, had strategically placed protective wards in the foundation of the massive fortress at the time of its construction. This made standard teleportation within a 30 kilometer radius almost always an unsuccessful event. 

One of the few who had no trouble overcoming such obstacles was Ciri herself. But teleporting, unless it was truly necessary, was not an option. Anyone who was properly trained could sense from — and to — where she teleported, so Ciri avoided using her 'gift' at all costs. One never knew who was 'listening'. She hadn't used her power since destroying the White Frost and found she got along quite well without it.

Ciri had discussed the issue of Iespeth in great length with Triss the night before. She decided she would take her to Kaer Morhen for the winter, as at the moment, there was no place for her at the academy considering her inability to communicate. Triss assured her that she was capable of speaking and just needed some formal teaching. She hoped the extensive library at Kaer Morhen would be adequate to teach someone with the particular needs of her new ward.

“Ciri, I can't stress this enough. We know she has the potential for magic. I don't know to what extent, but that burning sensation was not normal. If you ever notice her go into a trance, you need to seek the help of a trained and experienced mage. Keira should suffice for a short while but it may be possible she will eventually need someone with more know-how.”

Triss was never one to overestimate herself, which is why many years ago Yennefer was summoned to help Ciri, who frequently fell into such trances. 

“And if she never falls into a trance?” asked Ciri, looking over at Iespeth, who was busy fidgeting with her cinch. Triss had had her personal seamstress come and custom fit an outfit for the elf. 

Many times was she forced to remind the talented seamstress that she was dressing a woman who would be on the road and needed to look inconspicuous. They finally settled on a brown pair of pants made out of cotton blended with a trade-secret material to make the item of clothing stretch. On her torso Iespeth wore a thick blouse and over that she had a well cut draw-string leather vest reaching down below her hip bones, meant primarily to keep her small but rather adventurous bosom under control. “Inconspicuous,” Triss repeated, to the point that everyone in the room grew tired of the word. She had a point though, as men tended to treat a woman's erect nipples as an invitation rather than simply a reaction to the cold or a high-pitched sound.

On her waist she wore a wide cinch, * the inner part lined with lambskin and the outer adorned with a light-weight, flowing cloth hanging down over her butt to her knees. Due to the she-elf's frequent fidgeting, the cloth tended to cover only half of her right butt cheek and a small portion of her left outer thigh. The only garment that stood out as elegant was her leather deer-skin boots, which would look standard once worn in a bit. Finally and most importantly, the elf wore a dark green cowl covering her head, shoulders, and most importantly her ears. It was designed to be comfortable worn down or on her head.

Triss answered Ciri's question.“Well if she never goes into a trance, I suppose there is nothing to worry about then. But just so you know, there is always a place for her at the academy.”

Ciri nodded, “Triss, I wanted to thank you for your help with her.”

“It was nothing. Besides, you got Rita to agree to run a school again. I'd say I got the better end of the bargain, considering you completed the more difficult task.”

They continued chatting about this or that until they finally arrived at the correct dock.

“So I guess I'll see you at the end of next summer?” Triss asked.

“Same procedure as every year, Triss,” Ciri answered, grinning.

The two embraced each other lovingly, knowing they wouldn't see each other for at least a year. Then they said their last goodbyes as Ciri boarded the ship with Iespeth while Triss stood at the docks.

Though it would have been faster and easier to sail to Blaviken and then up the Buine, Ciri knew that entering Redania with an elf that could neither talk nor understand verbal communication would be veritably stupid, so they sailed to Hengfors instead. There they changed to a barge carrying goods to various villages along the Brad until reaching the foot of the Kestrel Mountains where they took a road through the pass to Aedd Gynvael. From there they continued south-east to Kaer Morhen.

“Your stamina seems to have increased since we found you,” Ciri said to Iespeth as they plodded along the path. The blond elf smiled at her caretaker while readjusting her cinch for the umpteenth time. Iespeth's stamina had indeed increased, and Ciri noticed when they bathed in streams that her thighs and calves had toned up a bit. Her legs were no longer as weak and wobbly as they had once been. Occasionally, the two even fell into a light jog for half an hour at a time.

That evening when they had yet to reach a village, Ciri figured they needed to find a place to sleep for the night. She would have to decide whether they stay near the road and risk being fallen upon by bandits or go into the woods and risk confrontation with a monster. If she had been with another warrior or alone, the decision might not have been so difficult, but this was not the case. As dusk threatened the two with night, the witcheress concluded they would stay near the road.

Ciri picked out a spot in a small clearing by following a small stream that had crossed the road they were taking. On one side was the base of a densely forested hill and on the other was a small slope leading down to the steady flow of water. It would be convenient to have access to clean water, and the hill offered a small bit of protection from the cool northern breeze. There had been a noticeable difference in the humidity and temperature of the air in the past week, signaling that summer was at an end.

Ciri placed her pack and two swords down in a small patch of dry dirt surrounded by a lush strip of grass which would serve as their bed for the night. The emerald-eyed elf took this as the signal to begin gathering small twigs and dried leaves for kindling and stones to surround what would become their fire place. It was clear to Ciri that Iespeth was indeed quite capable of learning, since she had observed only once how to set up the starting components of a proper fire and since then never missed a beat. 

Once Ciri took out her tinderbox, Iespeth scoured the vicinity for slightly larger sticks or logs as was a part of their little system they'd developed since setting out on foot from the west side of the Kestrels. 

The grosbeaks and warblers were singing their usual evening melodies which, as had become usual in the past 2 weeks, grabbed Iespeth's attention. Whenever they began their songs she always lowered her hood to listen. Ciri watched her for a moment, walking in and out of the trees on the edge of the woods looking for her bounty. She began to concentrate on striking her flint against the steel, being careful to aim so that the spark fell directly onto the wad of leaves Iespeth had prepared.

_Scritch. Scritch. Scritch._ She kept striking at a steady rhythm matching that of a song she heard Dandelion once play.

_Scritch. Scritch. Scritch._ A spark landed just left of the leaves. Dammit! What would Uncle Vesemir think!

_Scritch. Scritch. Scritch. Fsssss._ “Yes!” A glowing hot piece of the stone landed directly into the middle of the wad. “It's about bloody time,” Ciri exclaimed, immediately dropping her tools and picking up her accomplishment. She was careful to blow just enough to get the flames going, but not too much as to put them out. The dry, burning leaves crackled and popped as a reward for her work. It was then that Ciri realized that was the only sound she heard. Though still somewhat light out, the birds had quit their singing. A feeling of worry washed over Ciri.

It was then that she heard a twig snap, drawing her attention to the direction of the road. She saw Iespeth and she was not alone. A man stood behind her holding a dirk to her throat with his other hand on her shoulder. He could barely see over the elf's shoulder. Ciri slowly stood up taking a much more intimidating and threatening posture than Iespeth had ever observed from her. Her legs stayed slightly bent while her shoulders seemingly increased in size. Her head was somewhat lowered with those emerald eyes burning in the man's direction like a lioness ready to pounce. 

She moved slowly towards her sword knowing he would demand she stop, but she needed an excuse to move quickly in the other direction to be able to size up the short man whose view was blocked by his hostage.

“Don't you even think abou'it. I'll cut her if I 'ave to! I mean it” the man said as Ciri acted accordingly. She only needed a short glance to get the information she needed.

_Stomach hanging over the belt. Not in shape. Locked knees, no fighting stance so not a warrior. Rather limp arms for someone with 'serious' intent to kill. Stuttering voice. Little patches of peach fuzz mixed with crop failure. Hmmm. An unseasoned boy of 15 or 16? He's no killer...just a boy. A stupid boy._

“Do ya have...Gimme your gold says I!” he said with uncertainty.

“I think we both know you aren't going to pull that knife across her throat,” Ciri replied in a deep intimidating tone.

“I'll do it! Now, your gold or else!” the boy unconvincingly demanded. Iespeth looked unsure of what to do. Not really scared, but more oblivious as to what was happening.

“What is your name?” Ciri inquired.

“Hans,” he answered hesitantly. 

“Hans, have you ever killed anyone? Because I have. You'd be amazed how much blood comes spraying out when you hit an artery or how hard it is to hold down your last meal the first time you watch someone's intestines spill out onto the ground after slicing their belly open. It's surprising how hard it is to retrieve your sword from an enemy after running them through. I usually prefer to place my right foot just below the rib cage. It helps decrease the suction and gives me convenient leverage to yank my Gwyhyr out,” she said, motioning with her head towards her steel sword. Hans grew pale and beads of sweat began to build on the hairs of his pitiful mustache.

“I once enjoyed killing,” she continued slowly, “but not anymore. It's been a long time since I found pleasure in it. I avoid it if I can, but I have no qualms taking someone's life if they threaten my friends...or my family.”

Ciri realized she had grown to care for Iespeth rather greatly, as if she were her baby sister having lost their mother. It felt good to take care of someone for a change and be needed. She would kill this boy if she thought he was a serious threat, but lucky for him she knew he wasn't.

Hans slowly lowered the knife down from his hostage's throat while Ciri relaxed her frightening stance as a reward for his good behavior. If only things could have been that easy.

Unexpectedly, Iespeth grabbed the blade with her left hand, perhaps thinking it was her chance to escape. If she had just understood that her 'sister' had everything under control. Hans panicked and jerked the knife away, slicing her hand open. Before he realized what was happening he saw an ashen-haired fury accelerating towards him.

Ciri instinctively charged him using brute force, slamming him in the stomach with her right shoulder. When his back was abruptly stopped by a tree and the wind most likely knocked out of his lungs, Ciri grabbed his wrist with her left hand. She locked her elbow straight to keep the weapon at a safe distance, even though the boy didn't plan to use it. She twisted her body to the left with her right arm close to her breasts and sprang back in a torsion-like manner towards the boy's face, bashing her elbow into his temple.

It was dark when he regained consciousness a few hours later. Though the birds had long gone to bed, the woods nearby sang other songs. The crickets where as loud as ever, trying to attract the last of the season's mate, while the coyotes yipped their usual evening tunes.

Before opening his eyes he felt the crackling heat from a small fire on his face. For a moment he thought about the stone fireplace in front of which his dear mother often knitted in the evening. And just for that moment, he thought he was there. He thought it had all been a bad dream. He just wanted to go home to his Momma for he missed her so. Then Hans felt the pounding in his right temple, jogging back the memory of his knife to an elf's throat and a good pummeling by an angry ashen-haired woman. He resolved himself to open his eyes.

Ciri sat opposite the fire from where he was lying, legs crossed with her steel sword in its scabbard lying on her lap. The she-elf sat near her with her left palm face up and being held painfully in her right hand. They both stared at him intently.

“Please M'lady. I didn' meant to cut the Leafer's hand. I swears it! She grabbed it and I got real scared,” Hans desperately made known, not realizing he had just used an offensive term for an elf.

Ciri made him wait for an uncomfortable while before answering. She took a deep, perturbed sigh.

“What I can't fathom is why you had a knife to her neck in the first place?” Ciri asked, her intense emerald eyes flickering in the light of the flame.

The boy took a deep gulp and looked over at the elf, trying to escape the ashen-haired woman's harsh gaze. To his bad luck, he was met with an almost identical pair of unamused emerald eyes glaring just as intently at him.

“Well, I need coin. Or gold'a done me fine too. Me mum won't let me come home empty handed. She says 'stupid boy. How'ma supposed to feed ye with nothin'. Then she throws me out, not a crumb of bread neither.”

Ciri wasn't quite sure in what context he was speaking and decided to give him the opportunity to explain himself. After all, she felt everyone deserved a fair trial. “Start from the beginning. Why did your mother demand you come home with gold or not come home at all?”

“I worked at farmer Boswick's for a good 7 years. It's just a day’s walk from here. I planted seed in the spring and helped with the harvest come fall. One day farmer Boswick says me time is up, hands me a clump of gold yay big and bids me well. So I decides to go home to me mum for I missed her somethin' aweful! On the way me gold gets real heavy. But just be me luck a rider comes happenin' by. I thinks to meself 'Hans, it would be so much nicer riding along on a horse. No more climbin’ fences. No more trampin' in puddles.' So I ask the rider if he would trade me for me lump of gold. Luck must have been on me side because he handed me the reigns and made off with his gold. I rode for a bit, but got a thirst somethin' fierce. Then just be me luck a man with a heifer comes walkin' by. I think how nice a cow would be. I could drink milk any time I want and if I get hungry, I can make butter. So I traded me horse for a cow. But that cow was an ornery beast. I tried to milk her and only a drop came out. She gave me a good kick in the nethers too! At that point me stomach starts to growl. All I could think about is gettin' a bite to eat. But just be me luck a butcher comes along with a fattened sow...”

“Let me guess! You traded your cow for the pig?!” Ciri snapped, her patience running a bit thin. She composed herself and resigned to listen to the rest of his boring story.

“Right you are M'lady. I knew it when I first saw you, you are a smart one you are,” Hans replied.

He proceeded to tell her how he traded his cow for a pig, his pig for a goose, and finally his goose for a whetstone. When he was nearly home he looked down into a pond and the whetstone slipped from his fingers. After looking into the water and seeing his own reflection, he realized all he ever wanted was to be at home with his mother.

“I thought to meself. I'm the happiest boy alive! Or did I think I was the luckiest? But when I got home me mum was not but pleased. 'You are grown man! I sent you off to make your way in the world and you come home with nothin'! Get out you good for nothin' she screamed, shoving me out the door with a broom stick. I have nothing now. No gold, no horse, no mum,” he said, looking depressed.

Ciri couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor, stupid boy.

“I'd like to help you, Hans.” Ciri offered.

“You mean you'll give me coin?” Hans asked hopefully.

“No. You're a bit too...young,” she said, not wanting to say 'dumb', “to be trusted with money. I'm going to give you some advice instead. The thing about growing up is that you don't need your parents anymore. I know you love your mother and you want to go back to her, but you have to take care of yourself now. The best thing you can do is go back to that farm and work. ‘Cause that is what life is — work. You're not clever enough or mean enough to pursue the life that you attempted tonight. And even those that are cut out for it end up dead. Believe me, I know from experience. You may stay here tonight and share our fire, but tomorrow you are going to get up, head back to the farm and do something productive.”

Ciri got out a whetstone and began sharpening one of her swords. She didn't intentionally do it, but it certainly drove her point home.

Hans was too scared of the fierce woman to contradict her. He lay down near the fire and tried to sleep, but every time he felt the pull of slumber something jerked him awake. 

Shortly before dawn he realized trying to sleep had become pointless and decided to take the woman's advice. He definitely was not cut out to be a bandit. Before he set off, he left two simple wildflowers on Ciri's pack, hoping she would understand them as gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This chapter is based off of the the German fairy tale/fable Hans im Glück.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch
> 
> Just a small note: I am working on the next chapter but it _could_ take me a bit as it is a tricky one for me.

The longer the two women journeyed, the more Ciri grew tired of the silence. Often she would begin talking about a random topic just to break the obnoxious lack of words. She spoke about her past – about being raised by her grandmother Queen Calanthe, about her time as a young girl on the Isles of Skellige – but most of all she spoke about her short bit of training at Kaer Morhen. Occasionally, when the mood struck her, she spoke about the more tragic times of her life, such as the coup on Thanedd and her desperate trek through a desert after being dropped there by a portal while trying to escape a particular mage. Some topics, such as the death of those she cared about the most — Calanthe, Vesemir, Mistle — were memories she cared not to visit. When the notion popped into her mind to talk about such things, she quickly started giving tips on how to avoid being knocked off the gauntlet. She hoped after teaching Iespeth how to speak, she would give her a basic training in combat. Considering the deep wound in her hand, it seemed necessary.

***

“So we are riding along and he just won't let up. He told me I had qualities like “captivating appeal” and “uncommon beauty.” I am embarrassed to say it, but his constant flattery and charming gazes made me want to take my pants off. And his horse, which eventually became MY horse, was just plain sexy. But I was determined to play it smoothly.

At some point when we were not too far from Forgeham, we were set upon by horsemen. Hotspurn was hit in the back with a cross bow bolt. We were able to make it into some bushes and hide. He'd been injured but wanted to do it right then and there. He started unbuttoning my blouse. 'There may be complications tomorrow,' he said. So I let him take off my blouse. I didn't want to seem like a prude nor did I wish to seem too direct so I closed my eyes while hugging him around the neck. He was kissing me on my lips, then my neck and then— 

Oh look, there's some,” Ciri burst out, interrupting her own story. “Teigisbloom or whelmsworth, as it is called by some of the locals. The roots, boiled with direswort, are just what we need for your hand. Luckily the two tend to grow together. They grow in tandem and function as an antiseptic in tandem. The direswort...ughh,” she said, kneeling down, “almost looks like a small patch of moss, and if you look closely you'll see the small leaves.” Ciri began digging around the thick, woody plant with a stick.

“Those small leaves are exactly what we're after,” she said, uncovering the top layer of loose soil.

“Although I'm not even sure why I tell you this. You don't understand anyways,” she mumbled.

Ciri was wholly preoccupied, carefully chipping away at the brick-and-mortar-like fortress of rocks and dirt that the roots of the teigisbloom had grown themselves into, when a hand stretched out an arm's length away from her face with the small leaves of the direswort.

“And then? What happened next?” asked Iespeth as if speech was not a novelty.

Ciri couldn't believe what she had just heard. She looked up into the elf's intense emerald eyes which were waiting for the rest of the story. There were many questions Ciri wished to ask. _Who are you? What do you remember? Where did you come from? What were you doing in the middle of an ancient elven gate?_ She wasn't sure where to start but needed to say something.

“Um...well, then he died. With his mouth on my tit. The bolt had been filled with iron shot. Must have gone into his spine,” she said blushing and looking sorrowful at the same time.

Iespeth looked at her a tick longer than a normal person would have, studying Ciri's face.

“Hmm. That must have been...you know, I have no word to express,” Iespeth replied.

“Awkward and unusual to say the least,” Ciri stated, filling in Iespeth's lack of vocabulary. “So, you can speak?” she asked after a short pause.

Iespeth smiled sweetly and gave a single nod. “I hear. I watch. I learn,” she said pointing to her ears, eyes, and head, respectively.

The ashen-haired witcheress opened her mouth as if to ask something but instead breathed out forcefully through her mouth. 

“You want to ask?” Iespeth questioned pointing to herself. “I remember little before you found me,” she added. Though limited in words, she was careful to use the word 'little' instead of 'nothing'. But now was not the time to delve into that subject. Perhaps someday, when her understanding of this place was greater and her knowledge of those living here better known. _Perhaps._

“Well, do you want to find out?”

“Maybe. Eventually. But there are more important things,” Iespeth asserted.

“Such as?”

“Speech. Where we are. What the state of the world is. What I am,” she said pinching one of the tips of her ears between her thumb and forefinger.

“Ah. I understand. I suppose it would be hard for you to find out about your past if you know nothing about...well, almost anything. The short of it is that you're an elf, whereas I am a human. The long version is a bit more complicated. We'll have plenty of time for that after we treat your hand.”

She took the two ingredients of the antiseptic. That evening, after building an adequately sized camp fire, she got out a small kettle, filled it with water and let it boil. She explained how the direswort actually had no antiseptic properties, but rather contained an enzyme which broke down one of the chemicals in the teigisbloom that helped fight off infections in superficial wounds. She showed Iespeth how the water became soapy, which was how you knew that the enzyme had been released. Iespeth paid immaculate attention to every detail and asked rather involved questions — questions to which Ciri did not have all the answers. It was important that they spend the winter with those who could answer at least some of those questions, as Iespeth’s thirst for knowledge about the world seemed insatiable.

When Ciri had finally prepared the poultice, the two stood up and went over to a fallen log. Before they sat down, Iespeth fiddled with her cinch.

“Why are you always fidgeting with that thing?” Ciri asked.

“There is something strange. Here it is loose where I have no…you know?” she stated tugging at her skin and flab. “But here it is not! Don't worry though, I will adjust.”

Ciri wasn't sure whether she meant she would adjust her cinch or adjust to her cinch. She figured the fine tuning of Iespeth's speech would develop naturally.

They continued their journey on to Kaer Morhen with Ciri telling Iespeth as much as possible, which, considering the extent of things to be told, amounted to very little. Nevertheless, Iespeth's command of the common tongue expanded immensely and she came to grasp the basics of the world around her, which became a relief to Ciri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Ciri's first sexual encounter with a man whose name was Hotspurn occured in the books.  
> 2\. Calanthe was the queen of Cintra and grandmother of Ciri. She died when Cintra was attacked by the Nilfgaardians.  
> 3\. Mistle was, I guess you could say, Ciri's first love. She was a member of the Rats gang which Ciri was a part of for a time. Mistle was killed in front of Ciri by the bounty hunter Leo Bonhart. Her head was removed in front of Ciri.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch
> 
> Warning: I didn't rate this story because there will be very adult things in here. I'll give a little warning before each chapter with adult content. There is some very sexual content in this chapter.

Once they had reached the river fork Gwenllech, the general direction to Kaer Morhen--if one knew that it was even in the Blue Mountains--was rather simple. The trick was spotting the gap in the granite wall leading to the correct gorge.

“Are you sure this is the right way? This just seems like a dense overgrown forest to me,” Iespeth skeptically asked after they came out of the natural passage.

“Looks can be deceiving. And that is precisely the point. Very few know where Kaer Morhen is on purpose. There are secrets there that the general population need not know. And there are even more secrets that certain individuals shouldn't know either.”

“You mean, like sorceresses and sorcerers?” Iespeth had gathered from some of Ciri's stories that most magical users where not all that trustworthy even though she was fascinated by them. They tended to have very secret agendas. What she had failed to recognize was that everyone had secrets and plans. And she herself was no different.

“Some, but not all,” Ciri replied vaguely. Iespeth had been honest with her about her encounter with Rita. Ciri hoped nothing would come of it, but for safety's sake advised her companion to avoid skin to skin contact with mages. Iespeth was disappointed, but understood Ciri's reasoning. She decided to make sure she knew who she was to be meeting when they got there.

 

“So, Keira is a sorceress and she is paired to Lambert who is a-- what is he called? He is not a human.”

“He's called a witcher,” Ciri instructed.

“Yes. Lambert is a witcher which means Eskel is also a witcher. And who is the fourth?”

“Maya. You can't mistake her for anyone else due to her fiery red hair. She is a rather capable healer and will be able to help you with your hand. Also she is a…an elf. Like you.” 

Iespeth noticed her friend's hesitation, but wasn't sure what it meant.

The forest began to thin out a bit and opened up into a long, narrow valley. The two were lucky that the weather had been so pleasant mid-autumn even though the summers had become slightly longer year after year. In the middle of the valley, the Gwenllech, though at this point hardly recognizable as a river, trickled shallowly between the steep mountains. When Iespeth looked up she noticed a small tower and began to reevaluate her understanding of the word massive which Ciri had used often in her depiction of Kaer Mohren. As they came around one of the bends, the large Witcher fortress became visible, putting her doubts to rest. The large stone construction jutted proudly out of the side of a mountain which created a natural wall, needing no defense from the back side. Through the few pine trees, Iespeth could see what seemed to be balconies protruding out from one of the fortress' higher towers. _I want to go up there. I want to see. I want to see all of this._

Iespeth could not keep her focus once they crossed the bridge into the barbican. The crumbling yet still formidable stone construction left her in awe.

“Who built this?” she asked, walking up the three part ramp.

“We don't know,” Ciri replied, tickled at how impressed the emerald-eyed elf was. When they neared the inner ward, Iespeth asked what had caused the destruction of the archway. Ciri explained with hardship that it had happened in a battle. She pointed out the ballista which was used to collapse the structure as they navigated the pile. She made cleaning up the stones one of her goals this winter as the rubble reminded her too much of Vesemir.

They continued in silence until they stood directly in front of the keep. Ciri heard the slightly nasal sound of Keira laughing. She looked over and saw her, Lambert, Eskel and Maya sitting at a table in the small training area overlooked by the gauntlet, enjoying something to eat. Ciri walked over to them alone, smiling, while Iespeth stood staring and gaping at the keep.

“Oh look who's here everyone! And Lambert, you thought it would take her another week,” Keira said lightly backhanding Lambert's shoulder. “Ciri, the weather was just so lovely that I _insisted_ on an al fresco lunch. It's a shame all we have is rabbit stew,” she said tipsily taking a sip from her wine glass.

“Well, it certainly smells delicious,” Ciri replied, inhaling deeply. 

None of them spoke for a short time, and the four at the table all looked at each other as if they were having some sort of silent argument. It wasn't until Maya, trying to hold back her wild mane of red hair which the wind was blowing into her face, gave Eskel a nudge with her elbow that the silence was broken.

“Ciri, I uh, I don't wanna ruin your homecoming, but...there's someone here to see you,” he croaked out.

As Ciri pondered who might come to Kaer Mohren, she heard the soft distant tones of a flute -a flute played by one whose tunes she knew all too well. She pulled her face together in confusion and then a wave of anxiety washed over her. She hadn't seen him in three years. Since Tor Gvalch'ca.

“I'm surprised you didn't see him on the way in,” Keira said.

“You'll find him on the north wall on the west side of the crumbled parapet fidgeting with some gadget,” Lambert added, the flute music still audible.

“Don't be ridiculous Lambert, he isn't fidgeting. He is collecting and focusing light...though why he needs light that has been reflected off of snow is a secret that I sincerely would like to be privy to,” the blond sorceress sweetly corrected.

“And how is that not fidgeting?” Lambert jokingly retorted. Keira gave him a snide, but loving smile. Lambert was often a bit on the tame side when around Keira.

“I guess I'll see what our dear elven sage wants,” Ciri said.

She walked briskly over to Iespeth. “I have to go take care of something. Go introduce yourself, I'll be back in a bit,” she said while passing by her quickly.

“May I come with you?”

“No. It's important that _you_ do not come with me.”

Before Iespeth could say anything, Ciri was walking away.

***

Ciri had told her to go to them. To introduce herself. But she couldn't. She stood in front of the two massive doors leading into the keep trying to make herself move towards the four sitting in the sun enjoying a meal, but her legs wouldn't budge. The emerald-eyed elf knew their names, a bit about them, but she did not know them. The imagination of talking to these strangers without Ciri was unpleasant. _If only the thought of going over there causes this unpleasant feeling, then I should not go over there_ , she surmised. _This must be fear._ She would come to learn later that courage was the counteraction to fear. She turned to the heavy wooden doors and pushed one of them open, just enough to slip in.

Iespeth walked into what she first thought was the great hall until she looked further, seeing a much larger, grander room. She made her way into the massive space, nearly unable to breathe in awe of it all. Directly in front of her were tables, bookshelves filled with books, and various contraptions of sorts. She walked over to one table with blood stains, putting her hands directly on it to feel it and wondered what the creatures' physical form looked like. She moved over to a wall with an intricate mural of a man on horseback fighting what seemed to be a giant chicken. Iespeth pondered if such a creature truly existed. She followed the wall until coming upon a door atop a few steps. If her spatial reasoning was correct, this door might lead to the tower with the balconies she saw approaching Kaer Morhen. 

She entered what was clearly a tower with a staircase running alongside the wall winding its way upwards. The first level had a balcony, confirming she was in the right tower. But she wanted to go to the top. She pushed open a pair of intricately carved doors leading into a large round room. On a writing table near the entrance was a map with various lines and circles drawn in fine charcoal on it. In the middle was a fireplace with a few dying embers from the previous night, emitting a unique smell not consistent with that of burning wood. The curious elf pondered the markings of the map and the cause of the unique scent. She pulled open the doors leading to the balcony, feeling the clean, crisp air on her face. Timid at first of the height, she slowly approached the railing, peeking out onto the courtyard where the four where still dining. She looked beyond the castle walls out into the valley, seeing the path they had taken to get there.

***

Ciri paused before walking up the stairs to the top of the wall. She assumed he already knew she was there, but was pretending to be unaware. A moment was needed before she could pull her heart out of her stomach and rein in her racing thoughts. She was afraid; afraid he was here for Iespeth, that he would take her away. The fear made her angry, pushing her into almost a charge up the stairs.

“You've become much more difficult to track. It seems my instruction did not fall on deaf ears. Luckily for me, your yearly pattern is rather predictable.”

“What are you doing here?” Ciri demanded.

“Caed'mil, Zirael.”

“I asked, what're you doing here?” she once again said sternly. _He must have come for her._

“Focusing light. The positioning must be more precise than one-one-hundredth of the wavelength of the rays to be captured. The crystals and apparatus are hardly adequate, but it was all that could be found in this ruin. An exercise in futility,” he scoffed shaking his head and looking up from the array of crystals placed at various points in a metal frame.

“I'm tired of your tenebrosity. What do you want, Avallac'h? Why are you here?” she insisted.

“Out of concern.”

Ciri was tired of his half answers and ambiguity, but she steadied herself knowing that direct pressure never produced answers with this particular elven sage. It was something he considered a very human quality and thus didn't respond to well. She relaxed her face and said nothing. _If he wants this conversation to continue then I will calmly and peacefully force him continue it._

“Concern for you, Zirael,” he finally continued.

Avallac'h's title, Aen Saevherne--A Knowing One--was a title well bestowed on him. Today, however, he was not deserving of it. Had he disclosed why he had been drawn to Undvik, been drawn to the very sensation he incorrectly assumed only Ciri and her abilities could produce ,would he have been the wiser. They both would have been the wiser.

Omitting information --or at least presenting it vaguely and partially-- was a common practice amongst the elven elite. Between peers and equals, it was a course of action taken to save time by leaving out redundancies and assuming the other understood the intricacies of the discussion. With others, it was a way of accessing the player's intellect and mental dexterity. Although she was unaware of this fact, the prudent elf considered Ciri the former. 

Ciri gave a sarcastic smile and held out her arms lazily as to demonstrate that she was fine.

“Take it as you will, yet I have come out of care for your well being.”

She looked at him skeptically. _Maybe he is not here for her. Maybe it is coincidence that he is here._ Ciri wouldn't rule it out completely and resolved to be vague about her elven companion regardless of what he said. Feigning ignorance was sometimes the best tactic.

Avallac'h pursed his lips and tilted his face upwards.

“I might even go as far as to call you a friend.”

“You _might_? Well that is _very kind_ of you,” Ciri said. If sardonicism was a scent, then hers was so strong one could have tasted it. “Forgive me for me being a bit skeptical. I trusted you for years because of the threat we faced. I trusted you with myself and my power because of self preservation. Partially mine, but mostly because of your own. You were a more than adequate mentor and we faced many immeasurable obstacles together. Yet now those threats no longer exist and I can't be sure if your goals coincide with mine. You're very clever, Avallac'h. Anyone who would deny that is a fool. But altruism just doesn't seem a part of your constitution. And now you just show up?”

He looked at her almost as if saddened by her words. If Avallac'h hadn't known her as well, he might have taken her little monologue as an offense. But he knew how she reacted when something was bothering her; short-tempered, explosive, and full of emotion.

“Does it surprise you so much that I might call you a friend?” Avallac'h looked for non-verbal cues in her face. “I have lost much in the many years that I have lived. Much of which I care about is gone and I can never reclaim it. Yet, I helped you prevent the annihilation of us all, including those for which I am not particularly fond of. If that does not fulfill your criteria of altruistic then, dear Ciri, please enlighten me. As far as my goals are concerned, I have veritably come to care for you. Generally, in circumstances where one cares for another, there is an aspect of wishing that person good health and prosperity. But I am merely a sage and cannot be sure if those goals coincide with your own,” he said with a quaint smile. “If my presence here is too disturbing, however, I can leave. A portal shall open in four weeks in Aedd Gynvael.” 

Ciri changed her demeanor as soon as the tall elf used her real name. The times he had used it could have been counted on her fingers. Yet, it was moments like these that he was truly sincere and treated her as an equal, even if in his own peculiar way. Had Ciri asked him to leave, he would have obliged. He would have bided his time in the woods or in a cave and then made his way into the human city where the gateway was hidden. A soft bed in a castle with a somewhat equipped lab was, however, certainly more preferable.

“Avallac'h? I'm sorry. I'm just a bit...tired and irritable,” Ciri convincingly lied, unintentionally putting hands on her belly while leaning against the parapet. At first she wasn't sure why she didn't want to tell him about Iespeth. After all, if anyone knew how to find out about her past it was this Aen Saevherne. She began to realize that she wasn't so sure she wanted to know. She didn't want to know if the she-elf had a bloody, brutal past or a perfectly normal one. This way though, she was just sweet, innocent Iespeth. _Ignorance is truly bliss_ , she thought.

Avallac'h breathed in and exhaled quickly. “I forgot about those pesky short cycles you human women are troubled with. Perhaps I could brew you a concoction to ease your cramps?”

“What? Dammit Avallac'h. I'm not...it isn't…” Ciri trailed off angrily. She broke out into a smile and laughed through her nose. She decided to just change the subject. “So how are things in Tir ná Lia?”

“Different. Yet still the same. Change does not come quickly to a people for whom time has less meaning.”

“So in what way is it different?”

“Ge'els is king.”

“Oh? Ge'els, King of the Alders. Doesn't quite roll off the tongue.”

“Perhaps you might try it in the Elder Speech, preferably using the Ellylon dialect,” he suggested.

****

 

As Avallac'h climbed the extensive stone steps to the room he had staked out a week earlier as his quarters, he felt a significantly stronger draft than was normal for a mountain-top fortress the size of Kaer Mohren. _Someone has opened the doors._ Halfway up the long climb, a peculiar feeling crept into his consciousness. It wasn't due to magic nor was it something that was felt by any of his five primary senses, but it was curious nonetheless. He had had this feeling before, the circumstances of which buried in memories preferably forgotten. He consciously tried to ignore it. _Such feelings can arise from minuscule shifts in the body and mind's normal processes often due to subtle variations in one's surroundings. Hardly something to take note of_ , he thought, brushing the feeling off as a statistical outlier. 

When he reached the top of the steps, he noticed a hooded person standing on the balcony looking out over the mountains. After defeating the last step, he deduced, what with the shapely hips and narrow waist, that it was a woman. He hadn't expected to come across a stranger and hadn't the slightest notion as to who it could be even though he was a 'knowing' one. 

_She must have come with Zirael._

While sauntering over to the stranger, the sage scuffed his foot once purposefully, making a soft scrape against the stone floor so as to indirectly signal his presence. She slowly turned towards him lowering her cowl, the sun shining it's last intense rays of the day on her.

 _That face. I know that face. And those eyes_.

His stomach and heart seemed to pull towards each other in a violent lurch. She looked at him, emerald eyes flashing. He gasped.

“Lara” he gasped out, his eyes developing a slight, watery glaze. As soon as he spoke that name he realized he had made an error. This she-elf had short waves the color of raw honey instead of long straight raven-colored hair. Where Lara had been tall, slender and regal, this stranger was short, a bit shapely and typical of a Seidhe. But her face and eyes were uncanny. 

The woman looked at him unsure, “I'm sorry? My name is Iespeth.”

Though it was a rarity for the sage, being such masters of their emotions, he was genuinely embarrassed. If elves, particularly of those belonging to a higher stratum, were known for keeping their emotions and motives private, then Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha was the model citizen. And he had just betrayed one of his most private and profound emotions in a manner unbecoming of a man of his stature. Deciding to give the allure of being composed, he chose to reply with the standard greeting of the Elder Speech.

“Caed'mil,” he said, trying not to sound flustered.

“Um, I'm not familiar with that word,” Iespeth replied nervously.

Perhaps it was a reaction overcompensating for his embarrassment, but Avallac'h slightly crinkled his nose and squinted his eyes in a disapproving manner. _How could I have mistaken a common, uneducated Aen Seidhe for Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal_. As slight as his subtle facial changes where, his mannerisms did not go unnoticed. 

“It is the standard greeting in the Elder Speech. It hadn't occurred to me that one mightn't be familiar with the language,” he said with a certain air in his tone.

Iespeth looked at her waist and fidgeted with the cinch, feeling the man's disapproving eyes on her. She wasn't sure who this stranger was and why he was here. It must have been because of him that Ciri so hurriedly left her in front of keep. Iespeth had the same feeling as when she thought of talking to the four, only this time it was much more intense. She wasn't sure what caused this reaction; the man, his behavior or just the situation. She made herself look back up at him and squeezed out an apprehensive smile.

“We are both elves,” she said pointing at his head and then timidly grabbing her own ear. Given the hordes of humans she had encountered and the scarcity of their own kind, it seemed to her like a perfectly logical attempt to make a connection with this strange elf.

“Brilliant observation,” he said sarcastically. “A slight difference, though, if I may add,” his tone softening a bit. “You are of Aen Seidhe, whereas I am a native of the Aen Elle,” he stated as if to brag.

She felt embarrassed and ashamed. She wanted to look away. _But why?_ Iespeth reached for her cinch, but forced her hand back to her side, denying it its favorite habit. 

“What is the difference?” she asked timidly.

He looked right back at the the emerald-eyed she-elf with an amused smirk. Avallac'h found it odd that she had no understanding of even the most basic elvish words and was unaware of at least the concept of the Aen Elle. He would need more information. The elven sage whispered something inaudible into his hand, held it up and with a flick of his wrist, pulled a white flower out of the air. 

“Are you familiar with the story of Aelirenn, the White Rose of Shaerrawedd?” he asked, examining the silver drops on the petals.

Iespeth wanted to neither lie nor admit her lack of knowledge, so she said nothing. She knew this man was watching, analyzing, which meant every reaction--or lack thereof--was noted. She tried to hide the shame of her own ignorance, but similar to herself, Avallac'h skills of observation were impeccable, catching the split second that her eyes threatened to look down in abashment.

_Curious. A young elf who is unaware of Aelirenn; the call to war that most young Seidhe use to draw more to their ill-thought-out cause. Why? Who is she?_

“Then allow me to educate you on a small portion of _your_ history. When the humans arrived here on the Continent many years ago, the Tribe of the Hills--the Seidhe--slowly retreated further towards the mountains, the eldest of them believing humans were but a passing plague that would eventually wipe themselves out. 'A species that thoroughly rapes their environment,' referring to the humans' practice of farming, 'is like a parasite that kills its own host' being their general chain of logic. What a preposterous notion!” he said giving a mild snort. 

Avallac'h began to grimace. “Entire palaces including their greatest treasures were abandoned. Of course, the opportunistic humans found these empty structures of sophisticated architecture practically welcoming them in. It was there, of course, that they nucleated, reproducing like rabbits turning these palaces into large metropoles. Upon learning this, the Seidhe elders decided to raze any subsequently abandoned structure lest it become inhabited by the quickly breeding intruders. Among them was their crowned jewel, Shaerrawedd. And it was decimated, needlessly and utterly destroyed by its own creators.” Avallac'h paused for a moment fingering one of the thorns of the rose. “Then arose a young warrior enraged by the loss of one of their many great wonders. Aelirenn, she was called. She incited the youth to go against the wishes of the elders and went to battle against the innumerable dh'oine. They fought proudly and stupidly and they died. The foolish elders and their foolish youth. Two hundred years ago much of the future of the Seidhe had been destroyed in a single battle.” Avallac'h pressed his thumb gradually harder against the thorn until a small drop of blood emerged from his finger. “The blood of the elves,” he said, simultaneously sounding vexed and sorrowed.

Iespeth, though finding it unfortunate, was hardly saddened by the fate of a people she didn't know, but as a calculated measure forced out a melancholy expression to match that of the man standing before her. Calling them _her_ people was something that she would have to adopt.

“And the Aen Elle?” she questioned, “what of them?”

“We had a different fate. But that is irrelevant now,” he said handing her the rose. She took it skeptically, careful not to touch his skin although she desperately wanted to. But it was too dangerous. He was a mage and a stranger who might not be deserving of trust. And as it turned out, he did not trusted her either, but for entirely different reasons.

“A natural rose would of course wilt and die within a matter of days. But this is an illusion of my own creation. It won't degrade so quickly,” he said with a hint of snark. “Keep it. It's a gift,” he said smiling with a flash of his teeth. The mage then gestured towards the exit. “Now if you please, I have some tasks that need tending to.” 

Iespeth went back into the keep, finding Ciri with the red-headed healer.

“There you are; we've been looking all over for you! Where have you been?” Ciri asked. She noticed her friend seemed a bit shaken.

“I wanted to see the valley from the balcony. Then a strange man came. An elf. He didn't say his name.”

“His name is Avallac'h. What did he want?” Ciri asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. He gave me this. Said it was a gift and that I should keep it,” she said holding up the white rose. “Then he said he had work to do, so I left.”

“Did he? You didn't tell him about what happened, did you? About how we found you?” Ciri demanded to know, the worry in her voice noticeable.

“Of course not, Ciri. Everything may be new to me, but I'm not daft,” Iespeth replied. _Why would she be so worried about that man knowing?_ She didn't know their history, but Ciri's reactions confirmed that her mistrust of the man was not unfounded.

Ciri was relieved and also tickled by the she-elf's saucy answer. “Good. I've already told the others to be careful what they say around him.”

“You'll hardly need to be concerned. He mostly just stays in his room. He doesn't eat much. Occasionally he comes out and uses the lab or gets a jug of water, but in the week that he has been here, he has barely talked to us to any of us,” Maya interjected. This eased Iespeth greatly, as the elven mage made her uneasy.

“Good to know. Iespeth, this is Maya. She is going to help you with your hand while the others and I get a few things done and then prepare for supper. You'll be fine without me for a bit, won't you?”

It had occurred to Ciri that asking Iespeth to go alone to speak to three strangers and Lambert might have been asking too much. Iespeth looked at the red-headed elf wearing a simple dark green frock. She had such a pleasant and kind look about her. This elf was much shorter than Iespeth, significantly more curvy and had much paler skin. Iespeth likened the pigmentation of the woman to putting a freshly cut aspen branch on the fire, which she had frequently done on her journey here. She smelled of, what Iespeth would later come to know, various crushed herbs and burnt sage. The way Ciri had spoken about her and the sweetness in her face gave Iespeth a nice feeling. 'A healer is someone who fixes wounds and helps you feel better,' Ciri had told her. She felt she could trust this woman. _After all, she is an elf like me. Likely a Seidhe, whatever that means. I could and should learn more about what being an elf is._ She gave Ciri an enthusiastic nod, assuring her that she was comfortable with this stranger.

Iespeth followed the woman to the area with tables and contraptions. She watched as Maya gathered a few bottles with varying colored substances, white gauze, a pail with water, and some sort of small stone bowl with a stone that was longer than it was wide.

“What is that?” Iespeth asked.

“That? That's a mortar and pestle. You use it to grind herbs or seeds. Makes it easier to extract the chemicals in them,” Maya explained, while demonstrating how the pestle could be rotated in the mortar.

“You must know a lot. And you're an elf. Like me.” Iespeth attempted once more to find some common ground, to find some connection to this person based on their shared race. She knew that it was vital that she blend in which meant figuring out how to behave in this world as an elf. Perhaps this time it might go better than with the elven man whose unpleasantness she had experienced a few minutes prior.

Maya gave her a peculiar smile. A smile whose meaning Iespeth would soon come to understand.

“Yes. I'm an elf. Now sit down and let me have a look at that hand,” she said sweetly, rolling up her sleeves.

Maya pulled up a chair across from Iespeth and held out her two small hands after taking a seat. Iespeth understood. She offered her injured hand to the healer, feeling comfort knowing that her wound was in the care of an expert. The blond elf gave out a sharp gasp as soon as she made skin contact with the healer. Maya was shocked when Iespeth then aggressively grabbed her bare arm with her right hand pulling her closer. Iespeth began intensely examining the red-headed 'elf' with her eyes. _She is not an elf. Similar to the blood on the table. I must tell Ciri. Why would this person claim she is an elf?_

“What are you doing?” Maya asked, giving her a befuddled look.

“I...” _Use your lack of understanding as an excuse. What you can do may not be normal here._ “I misunderstood. I've never been in this situation before. With a healer. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to behave. How it was supposed to play out. I'm sorry.” Iespeth let go of the red head's arm.

“It's quite alright. Lambert said you might behave a bit unorthodox,” Maya sympathetically replied. Whatever she was, she seemed harmless and Iespeth still liked her. She would have to ask for Ciri's opinion later, though.

“What is unorthodox?”

“It means not normal.”

Iespeth found that the use of the word ironic considering the situation. “I'd like to know what normal is. Ciri says we are to stay the winter here. I hope to learn.”

_Normal. Ha! She'll learn how to fight, to hunt, to brew healing concoctions and other substances. But learn to be normal? From a handful of abnormals? thought the red-headed healer._

Maya was at least pleased to hear that she wished to learn.

“Well, we'll do our best to teach you.”

The red-headed healer examined her hand, determining that risk of infection was no longer a threat. She prepared an elaborate balm--showing and explaining every step--which would minimize the buildup of scar tissue and gave Iespeth a few exercises to do to keep the functionality of her fingers intact. Her emerald eyes where so concentrated on Maya's words and actions that she didn't realized that it had become dark out until they were interrupted by the witcher called Eskel.

“Sorry to interrupt, but it's time to eat,” he said, moving over to the red-head and putting his hand around her waist. Maya grinned as if her facial expression was no longer under her control. It was then that Iespeth noticed two small gaps in her teeth.

“Iespeth, why don't you head on over. They'll be sitting near the big fire. You can't miss it,” Maya instructed.

As Iespeth walked away, she noticed the two fumble into an embrace. She observed how Eskel groped the short woman's ass and the subtle way in which Maya responded pressing her pelvis against the man's leg. She wasn't sure why, but the two seemed to feel it important to keep mouth-to-mouth contact for a short period of time.

The elf made her way in the direction of the large fire place staring at the couple until she abruptly bumped into a sturdy figure.

“It's not polite to stare at such things...well, unless you have a good hiding spot,” Lambert said, smirking.

“Lambert, you are such a bad influence! How on earth shall I punish you?” Keira the sorceress said.

Iespeth didn't understand. The feeling crept back into her stomach again making her want to flee. She calmed down once she spotted Ciri at the fire and went to her side. The greens, mushrooms and bacon the witcheress was stirring in a cast iron skillet smelled delicious. Her mouth began to water so much that she nearly drooled on her vest before wiping the spit off her chin with the back of her hand.

Iespeth learned by observation that each person served themselves, unlike how she and Ciri were served at Triss Merrigold's school. She found it intriguing watching the dynamic between the five. Keira constantly gave Lambert affectionate jibes which he returned in kind. With the others he presented his jokes in a much more crude and confrontational manner, but was often retorted at with a witty response or insult from either Ciri or Eskel. Eskel and the healer seemed to find it difficult to not touch each other. She wondered why the sorceress and Lambert didn't behave that way. Ciri talked about her past year on the 'Path', while the two witchers listened and gave her tips and critique. In the meantime, Maya and Keira discussed potions and poultices. This went on for hours. Iespeth watched, listened and learned.

***

The night was clear and calm with only the occasional howls of a wolf. Not a single cloud was to be seen which allowed the stars' sparkle to be seen at their best. Avallac'h had left the windows open, allowing the cool mountain air to permeate the room. He tinkered with a crystal about the size of his fist at a table in the solitude of his quarters. The spell that he was attempting would not alone suffice to put adequate runes into the stone. Although perhaps one of the most accomplished and knowledgeable mages, he hadn't the expertise to put small markings into the jewel's surface with a just a spell. He would either need a rune master--of which the only ones he knew were on the world of the Aen Elle--or he would have to try combining the spell with a strong etchant. But made of what? 

He contemplated going downstairs and rummaging through the shelves to see what the witchers kept in store. Time was rarely an issue for him, but he did wish to finish his experiment before returning home. Considering how secretive the witchers tended to be, he deduced that looking through their chemicals without permission might be considered an affront. The sage wished to keep things pleasant for Ciri and knew the two witchers cared naught for him. Besides, he hadn't the patience to listen to any of their crude jokes and banal conversations that they were certainly having in the great hall.

He thought about attempting the spell once more, but found himself lacking the motivation. He sat there for a few minutes, his eyes losing focus on the crystal. To pull himself out of his daze he turned his eyes away from his project, coincidentally looking upon the balcony. It was the exact spot where he had first seen the honey-blonde Seidhe whose face looked uncannily identical to Lara Dorren--the woman who he had loved more than anything. He decided not to occupy himself with thoughts of sadness and focused on the pleasant times he had had with her. He remembered a time when she had come to his lab under the pretense of helping him with an experiment. But she had come for something else. Avallac'h closed his eyes.

_She walked up to me pressing her breasts against my chest. I was holding an alembic. Those eyes. Those big precious emerald eyes looking at me. I reached up and caressed the revealed skin where her neck bone ran along her shoulder._

He began to feel a stirring below his belt and started contracting his muscles, pumping more blood into his member. The pressure his trousers applied to his growing erection spurred him on.

_Asking, demanding with her eyes. I obeyed. I put the alembic down as she rubbed herself against my front, careful to press against my cock frequently, but ever so briefly._

The sage took off his bracers and fingerless gloves. He began to press an open palm against his belly where the tip of his penis was trying to escape the seam of his trousers.

_Looking up at the ceiling while she began to take off my clothes. She preferred not to use spells to remove them. Her fingers; so determined, so earnest._

Avallac'h undid his belt, followed by his sash. Once those were gone, he unwrapped his asymmetrical tunic and tossed it on the floor. One by one, he undid the buttons of his shirt until his chest was exposed. Although he was becoming desperate for relief, he was aware of the benefits of patience, particularly when it came to sexual gratification.

_Gently tracing the designs on my bare chest with consequence until I pulled her closer to my body._

He put his right hand on the protrusion on his stomach, increasing the pressure, and rubbed his bare chest with his left hand. 

_Looked down at her small stature and saw her gazing up at me. I tucked one of her honey colored curls behind her perfect pointed ear._

Avallac'h stopped moving his hands and opened his aquamarine eyes. He closed them again trying get the image of Lara Dorren back. He willed himself to replace the honey blonde curls with straight black tresses, but it was in vain. Every time he closed his eyes the intense emerald eyes were staring back at him surrounded by curled, honeyed locks. The image of this woman was relentless and demanded he continue.

_The woman gave him a mischievous half-smile and amply undid the the bow holding the lacings of his trousers snugly closed. With a smooth tug, she had them half way down his thighs. She stood back and began to undo her vest. She wanted to reward him for his obedient behavior with something beautiful to look at. When her small tits escaped the confines of their prison, he reached out to touch one but she wouldn't let him. Her erect, dark areolas and pink nipples beckoned to be softly pinched. No matter how much they taunted him, she denied him the pleasure. She grabbed a pillow from a stool, tossing it on the floor, and knelt down in front of him._

Avallac'h undid his britches and shoved them down to his knees. His breathing had become significantly deeper.

_Her warm breath could be felt warning the bulging head of his manhood of the pleasure that was soon to come. She put the tip to her lips and pushed back his foreskin with the length of her tongue._

He quickly fondled the head of his member with his thumb and first two fingers.

_She grasped the base of his shaft firmly and looked up, daring him to attempt escape. Then she enveloped him with her mouth. She alternated between applying pressure to the roof of her mouth with intense sucking and teasing him by massaging the underside just below the head with a powerful tongue. She kept moving faster, tempting him to come._

He moved his hand faster and faster, the pressure and need for release rising exponentially. The experienced sage didn't remember self pleasure having been so good. He wanted to delay his gratification so he could continue the rest of the memory even if it was with an impostor. She wouldn't let him though. His eyes shot open as the release was overwhelming causing him to make a succinct grunt. She was gone. He pointed his cock up towards his sternum when he came allowing the warm fluid to splatter across his inked belly.

Once he regained control of his breathing, he reached for a small rag on the corner of the table. He cleaned his seed off his stomach in one precise wipe. After kicking his pants off, he walked out onto the balcony, his shirt still open and hanging from his shoulders. His runic tattoos seemed to glow under the moonlight. The cool night air soothed his flushed skin and the mild breeze relieved his exhausted parts. He stood there enjoying the sensation, feeling more relaxed than he had been in a while.

Although he intended to continue working as he was wont to do, he lay down on his bed after closing the balcony doors. He'd meant to think about which substances he would try out for his etchant, but sleep overtook him, forcing his eyes shut.

***

“Eskel and Maya will just end up looking at her like a young woman needing protecting. Ciri already sees her as a sister. You saw that at dinner, didn't you? Besides, our dear Cirilla has had such a nasty life, she will do everything her power to protect that elf from the evils of the world, even if it ends up being detrimental in the long run. She won't be able to look at the larger picture. That is precisely why you need to be the one mostly responsible for her training,” Keira said, taking off her pearl earrings. The room was lit by a multitude of candles, yet considering the room's size, it remained rather dim.

The sorceress sat at a mahogany vanity with a large, oval mirror enveloped by intricate carvings of water nymphs being engulfed by the sea. Her blue and red dress was hung neatly over the back of her chair. Lambert was lying on the bed naked, his cock draped lazily over his relaxed balls. He liked watching his mistress of magic go through her evening rituals preparing for bed. The witcher observed the shadows dancing across the her bare breasts in the reflection of the mirror as she applied a salve to her lips. He knew she was expecting him to be attentive when she was discussing matters she felt important, but she made it difficult as she began rubbing one of her many lotions onto her thighs. He was often convinced she was testing his skills of concentration whenever she stretched her leg out and up towards her face, pointing her toes in the air to reach the back of her knee as she was doing now.

He needed to say something.

“I just...I actually kind of feel bad for her. She knows fuck all and seems so innocent and sweet. I don't know if I can treat her like a young witcher in training...like how I was treated,” Lambert said fiddling with the corner of a fluffy pillow. 

Lambert often had difficulty being honest about matters of a more tender nature. With anyone but her, he would have made a indecent or crass joke. But she wasn't just anyone. He could be honest about his cynical viewpoint on the world without judgment. And he could be honest about the rare times he felt sentimental. It was what he loved about her. Besides, she could and sometimes did just read his thoughts with telepathic spell.

“And I thought you didn't like her? I'm surprised at this coming from you. You men certainly do tend to get rather weak in the balls when confronted with big eyes, a pretty face and a pair of well formed breasts. I know by experience,” she said referring to herself and him. “She is a woman, Lambert. Don't underestimate how far we can be pushed without breaking,” she said, turning around to face him. “In the long run, it is for the better. Life is hard and a woman, particularly one like that, needs armor because this world will not be kind,” she continued, looking back at the window. She immediately began brushing her hair.

She saw in the mirror's reflection of his face that he was unsure. She listened, just for a moment. _What do you mean?_ What do you mean 'one like that'? She gave a sigh thinking what she meant had been obvious.

“The elves are not doing so well on the Continent. That's not really a mystery. Every single one found in Redania is unfairly and swiftly tried and executed. The few in Kovir and Pontis are kept in refugee camps, often turning to crime to survive. And Dol Blathanna has a neighbor to the north that is hell bent on exterminating them. They were once protected by Nilfgaard to the south, but now they either won't or can't support them, despite them officially having an alliance. I've never been on great terms with Francesca Findabair, but the few times I have seen her recently she seems...burdened. It's subtle really, only things that a sorceress might notice. But it is there. That is why you must prepare her in the best way you can.”

Lambert understood her point and nodded in agreement.

“But enough about that. On to more pleasant things,” Keira said, in a much more positive tone putting down her brush.

The blond sorceress stood up, allowing Lambert to look at her exquisite figure. She wore only a pair of white charmeuse underwear held on her hips by a thin silk cord fastened into a bow just below her belly button. Lambert wondered if he would remove them with his mouth or his hands. As she sauntered provocatively over to the bed, Lambert's cock perked up in curious anticipation.

She crawled on top of him and gave him a kiss, griding her hips against his firm erection which was only prevented from entering her by a thin piece of material. His seductress sat up, giving him a sly smile and then extinguished all the candles with a wave of her hand, darkening the chamber with a quick, simple spell. The only light was that coming from the hearth in the center of the room, creating a puppet show of their love making.

***

“Ciri?”

“Yeah?”

“There is something strange about Maya,” Iespeth said unpacking her few belongings and arranging them carefully in the small trunk at the foot of her bed. Among them were the sponge that Triss Merrigold had given her and the white rose from Avallac'h.

The only beds that were available were the small cots located close to the gigantic fire place. They might not have been the most luxurious, but being so near the massive source of warmth would make up for that in the winter.

“Hmm. What makes you say that?” Ciri turned away under the pretense of smoothing the blankets on her bed. _Since when did Ciri care about her sheets being orderly?_ It was such minor details that the she-elf often seemed to perceive.

“There was just something...not elfish about her.” Iespeth couldn't tell Ciri how she was aware of Maya's 'differences' so she had vaguely, yet truthfully, chosen her words. “But you know what she is, don't you? You know much.”

“Typical elf. They seem to even notice when a mosquito shits,” Ciri teased. She gave a resigned sigh. “She is what is called a 'higher vampire'.”

“And they look like elves?”

“And humans.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“It wasn't my secret to tell. It's for her to decide who she trusts enough to share her identity with. Everybody has parts of themselves that they prefer not to share and everyone has a right to keep those parts private.” Ciri's words seemed to comfort her strange elven friend.

“Could she be dangerous to us?” Iespeth asked.

“I don't want to lie to you. Higher vampires can be very dangerous. But then again, so can a witcher or a mage or an elf. Even I can be dangerous. And yet we still are all under one roof sharing bread, telling our stories, and laughing together. Capacity for danger doesn't suffice to condemn someone. Only their actions do.”

Iespeth looked at Ciri, contemplating her words. She gave a nod, demonstrating that she understood and accepted Ciri's reasoning.

Both women lay down on their small beds and pulled the blankets over themselves.

“Why did you decide to tell me then what she is?”

“I didn't want you to fear her. Do you fear her?”

“No,” Iespeth said matter of factly. “I like her. She is kind. She offered to teach me 'reading and writing'. Did you know that you can communicate with another person just by making symbols? Can you do that?”

Ciri chuckled. “Yes, I did know that and I can read and write.”

Iespeth was quiet for a while, but just as Ciri was about to dose off,

“Ciri?”

“Hmm?”

“I trust you. You are, in a way, a part of me.”

Ciri didn't really know what she meant and didn't really care so she just replied with “That's nice, Iespeth,” and then fell into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maya is a character taken from a fan fiction called "To Stay the Winter" by MaevesChild. I love that she gave Eskel a love interest and the character was so wonderful I wanted to put her in my story. I have permission from the author. The circumstances in my story are different from the original story, but the general character and relationship with Eskel are the same.  
> Here is a link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4613397


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch
> 
> So I just wanted to give an explanation of why this chapter took so long to post even though it is a short one. I have been working on getting and got a new job recently which has and will continue to take a big chunk out of my free time. The speed at which I post chapters might slow down for a while, but I promise I am still working on the story. I know the general direction I want to take it, but have to work out the details. Thanks everyone for being so patient.

Chapter 12

As the sun peeked over the mountains and shone through the few windows of the witcher's fortress, Iespeth sat up from her bed with a jerk, excited. The red-headed healer Maya, who Iespeth had found out the night before was a 'higher vampire', had promised to teach her reading and writing. She had seen the magnitude of books around Kaer Morhen and wondered what knowledge they held for her. Iespeth had to fight back the urge to wake Ciri, wanting to share her excitement. The thought of being swatted at and having 'Dammit, Iespeth' being screamed in her general direction one more time made the urge finally vanish. She slipped on her boots and tip-toed her way to the lab area.

To kill time, she took a book off a shelf and opened it. She examined the fine way that the symbols curved and noticed that they seemed to be organized in lines. When she got no further making sense of the markings on the paper, she decided to see what was taking Maya so long. _Surely she doesn't sleep as long as Ciri. Just in case, I should be quiet._

The trek up the stairs to the top of the tower that Maya and Eskel slept in was long and made more strenuous by Iespeth's care to make little noise. Midway up the stairs she began to hear what seemed like quiet sobs becoming louder the closer Iespeth got to the top. She held the side of the wall to steady herself up the narrow, stone steps worried about what she might find up there. As she peaked her head up into the room and looked around, she saw a pale figure sitting upright on the bed jerking its body forward and backwards. She noticed a second figure who was underneath the pale shape sit up and put their arms around the first. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room she realized what was most likely be occurring.

Ciri had explained mating to her after she witnessed a group of ducks involved in an 'altercation' in the middle of a pond. She pointed out that the female was the one screeching, being mounted, and pushed down into the water while the other 5 were the males fighting for the opportunity at reproduction. When the female finally surfaced many of the feathers on the back of her neck had been ripped out. The whole act seemed violent and unpleasant and held little appeal for the naive elf.

But what Iespeth was watching seemed very different. Not only did neither seem distressed, they both seemed to be enjoying this act. As she watched Eskel grab Maya's left breast roughly, so too did she feel a strong hand on her shoulder. She whipped around and saw Lambert's glaring cat eyes. He put a finger to his lips insisting she be quiet, then motioned her to follow him down the stairs.

“Sorry to interrupt your little voyeur session,” he said sarcastically, “but it's time for you to start your training.

Iespeth opened her mouth to try and defend herself.

“Save it,” he interrupted. “You're probably going to say that you didn't know better or it was an accident. Whether you are being earnest or not doesn't really interest me. But let me get one thing straight, those things are private, so don't go poking your nose around in places where those private things are done.”

Iespeth gave him a nod and followed him in silence to the kitchen. When they got there he grabbed an apple, a few hard rolls, a wedge of cheese, and 3 red sausages. He plopped the apple and a roll onto a wooden board and placed it in front of Iespeth keeping the rest of the treats for himself. He could tell by the look on her face that she found her meal to be unfair.

“Considering how flighty your stomach is, I'd prefer to avoid an accident,” he said, remembering the she-elf's stench after their boat ride a while back. Iespeth didn't understand, but there were other questions she wished to ask.

“Why were those two copulating? Why would a witcher and a v...an elf do that if no offspring will result from the act?” she asked biting into her apple.

“You wanna know why scarface and red were _fucking_? Maybe you'd like to know why Keira and I _fuck_ too?” he said smiling condescendingly and taking a bite from his sausage. He put a particular intonation on the curse word for sex as if he enjoyed its use. “We _fuck_ , because it feels good. Witchers certainly don't lose their urges in spite of being sterile. In fact that makes _fucking_ all the more appealing.”

“But, but that can't be right? Witchers aren't sterile,” she questioned, remembering the first time she touched Lambert's gloveless hand.

“Ah there it is. Proof that it is a part of your nature!” he exclaimed, his arms in the air as if giving a sermon. “Even elves with amnesia think they know better than us lowly humans,” he said with a scoff. “Well, Ye Olde Wise Pointy Ears, I have known quite a few witchers in my day that have banged their way across the continent and failed to knock up a single wench with their viper-eyed spawn.”

“Were the wenches witchers?” she asked, while chewing on a hunk of bread.

“There are no female witchers, despite what Ciri might call herself.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe that's the problem. Maybe if a witcher _fucked_ a witcheress, there would be little witchers.”

Lambert controlled the corners of his mouth wanting to reach up to his ears when he heard the she-elf use _that_ word. For a moment, he realized he didn't know why the Trial of Grasses had only ever been carried out on young boys and wondered if it would be possible for a woman to survive it and bear children. He discounted the she-elf's notion as ignorance and told her to follow him as soon as she finished her meager meal. He took the rest of his food with and ate on the way. They walked through the fortress grounds to the forward training yard where wooden swords waited on racks.

“But Maya was going to teach me to read and write today. Plus, Ciri said I can't learn to wield a sword till my hand heals,” she began to reason.

“And who said one had to hold a sword to train?” he asked, cutting off a piece of cheese with a dagger he'd drawn from a small leather scabbard hanging on his outer hip. Iespeth looked at the bows and target next to the rack of swords. She wondered if that was what he meant, until Lambert walked past all the weapons, went through the barbican and stopped outside the entry portcullis.

The crude witcher pointed at a small trail the width of a horse leading up into the mountains. At some point it became surround by a forest. Some of the night's fog still hadn't subsided at the base of the mountains, making visibility through the trees difficult.

“That there is the Killer. And you're gonna run it,” Lambert explained.

“Alone?” Iespeth asked, with a hint of worry in her voice.

“Yep. You just follow the trail. Occasionally there are wolf signs where the path is less obvious. Follow those and you'll know you're on the right path.”

“Will I be back by the time Maya comes down?”

“Sure. If you run it fast enough, you'll have the whole day to sit in front of a book.” A wicked smile developed on Lambert's face.

Iespeth thought it wouldn't be a problem. She and Ciri had jogged before. The increased heart rate and heavy breathing was often enjoyable.

“Are you ready?” he asked, looking at a particular tree standing well apart from the forest's edge.

Iespeth noticed his glance and then gave Lambert a nod indicating that she was prepared.

“Go!”

Lambert finished the rest of his breakfast and brushed the bread crumbs off of his chest with his hand. He closed his eyes and concentrated his hearing, listening to her approximate location. He could already hear her intense breathing, indicating that she had reached the first steep incline. He smiled and then took off at a slow pace behind her.

****

Iespeth jumped down from a large boulder, her legs giving out when she landed. Her thighs burned and didn't want to play the game anymore. She forced herself to stand up even going so far as smacking the fleshy muscle on her upper leg with her fist, trying to get her legs working again. She spotted the wolf symbol confirming that she wasn't lost in the middle of the mountains, which gave her hope. She approached a steep decline where the path was surrounded by blackberry bushes on either side. The air became a bit cooler, feeling nice against her skin. She didn't realize the temperature had dropped due to the moisture in the air and being in a hurry, she took the slope too fast, not realizing that it was rather slick. Her foot slipped out from under her and she fell shoulder first into the bushes, the sharp thorns cutting open the skin on her right shoulder and neck. The pain was similar to when she hurt her hand but much less severe. What was different was the emotion she felt. Iespeth carefully pulled herself up and out of the bush, feeling small drops of blood drip down her shoulder. The elf yelled furiously at the plant and held back the urge to kick it, knowing that it would defend itself. “DAMMIT!” she screamed, using one of Ciri's favorite curses. Her right side from the waist down was covered in a thin layer of mud, but she didn't care. She yanked her boots off to have better traction and continued forth, all the while oblivious to the witcher a way back struggling to not to laugh.

Although exhausted, she somehow found the strength to pick up the pace when she saw the fortress. She was worried that her chance with Maya might have passed. Iespeth saw Lambert standing where she had left him, picking his nails with his dagger. He had taken a detour and sprinted so as to arrive before her. She noticed a small bead of sweat on his forehead and found it curious but hadn't enough information to draw any conclusions.

“Tsk tsk tsk. And I thought elves had endurance. Vesemir would be rolling in his grave knowing that an _elf_ was the slowest ever to run the Killer.”

Iespeth stopped in front of him, leaning forward, putting her hands on her knees as she struggled to breath.

“Whooo... _huff_...is... _huff_...Vese... _huff_...mir?”

“Doesn't matter. I'd say that is enough of your physical training for the day. Perhaps you'll do better tomorrow. I just hope red still has time for you!”

Upon hearing that Iespeth ran, albeit with little speed, to the great hall ignoring the pain her body was suffering. She slammed her body into one of the great doors causing her to knock herself back without giving the door the slightest nudge. She tried again with less impulsion and more strength getting it open just enough to shove her body through.

****

“By the gods!” Maya gasped seeing the disheveled elf hobbling towards her. Iespeth had dried blood all over her right side mixed with dust. Strands of her hair were clumped together in a crusty mixture of sweat and dirt on the side of her head, revealing her red face. She carried a pungent scent consistent with that of her appearance.

“Please, tell me I'm not too late. I ran as fast as I could!”

“Why don't we get you a change of clothes and clean you up a bit. I'd like to take a look at your arm and neck,” Maya said taking out some gauze and alcohol.

“'Tis but a scratch! Pleeeease. I want to learn the symbols!” Iespeth pleaded. She didn't realize that there was no time limit and that was just a gimmick Lambert used to get her to run faster. The red-headed healer acquiesced to her request and bade her to take a seat at one of the tables. She felt she couldn't deny someone that was so eager to learn. As she went off to get the necessary equipment, Iespeth looked around. She noticed Avallac'h staring at her with a bottle of some substance in his hand, his face indecipherable. He inhaled a few times through his nose and turned away. Iespeth sniffed one of her armpits, wondering if her strong scent had anything to do with it.

Maya returned with a thin black stone and a white piece of chalk. Iespeth straightened up, ready to listen. Maya made a marking on the stone tablet.

“So, this symbol is called 'A'.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenharelsBottomBitch
> 
> At this point I am just google translating English to Welsh for Elvish unless it is a phrase from the games or the books. Forgive me for being a bit lazy.

“I sure as hell hope you get faster at some point. Every day was slower than the last,” Lambert said, his mouth full of cheese and sausage. He looked—like he did every day—at the lone tree in front of the forest.

“Ready? Go!”

Iespeth took off in the direction of the mountains. She had become comfortable with being alone for the time she was in the woods. For the past two weeks, she had had the same schedule. Lambert and Iespeth woke up before the others, she ate a tiny breakfast, and ran the Killer. 

And like every day when she returned, Iespeth saw Lambert leaning against the wall waiting for her as she exited the woods.

“There really isn't an elfy thing about you! I've known dwarves with beards so long they trip on them who run faster than that,” Lambert said as she approached him sweating a good few hours later.

“That can't be! I didn't even have to walk this time!” Iespeth yelled, shaking her fists once in frustration.

“Well, maybe you need to try harder,” he replied nonchalantly. She noticed a bead of sweat on his forehead like he had every day as he turned to look at that bloody lone tree. Lambert started walking towards the entrance to the fortress. He turned when he realized she hadn't followed him.

“Come on. Don't you wanna pore over your books?”

“I need a moment. Alone!” she spat. 

“Suit yourself. But don't blame me when there is no lunch left.”

As soon as he was out of sight, she ran over to the tree. _What is so special about this one tree? It's just a small sapling._ She ran her hands over it feeling every nook and cranny of the bark. Most of the leaves had already fallen off and were lying next to it on the ground. She picked up a few and crunched them in her hand, then let the pieces fall. Even though she was standing in the sun she began to get cold as her sweat dried. She finally gave up and joined the others.

Lunch was particularly special today since Eskel had hunted a wild sow the day prior. With very few humans in the area, the pigs grew particularly plentiful over the summer. Everyone ate the tasty meat slowly, savoring the tender morsels. Everyone except Avallac'h who was still in the lab playing with chemicals.

“Damn Eskel, you cook a mean pig!” Lambert said, wiping the juices off the side of his mouth.

“It was nothing. Just an old recipe. Thanks to Keira I didn't have to stand here turning the damn thing the whole morning,” Eskel replied.

Keira smiled and nodded her head. “I can't say my motives were truly altruistic. I simply grew tired of hard rolls and dried sausages. And it is such a simple spell.” She stabbed one of the many finely cut pieces on her plate with her two-pronged fork. “Tis a shame, though, that Avallac'h does not wish to join. The meat did turn out nicely. I dare say even adequate enough for an elf to tolerate,” she stated, slyly looking at Ciri.

Keira might have been the only one at Kaer Morhen who actually welcomed Avallac'h's presence, whereas the others merely tolerated it. She had so many questions of the magical sort and wished to dig into his wealth of knowledge. She was aware, though, that sages were not known for sharing. This widely spread assumption was confirmed by his lack of interaction with almost everyone. On occasion, the elven mage would demand various herbs or substances from Maya, but that hardly comprised a conversation. The only one he really spoke to was 'Zirael'.

“Bu' Ima elf,” Iespeth inserted, her mouth stuffed to the brim, “an' I thin' it's swell.”

“Of course you do dear, but you were essentially raised by humans. There is nothing wrong in that naturally, but...how can I say this without sounding like a snob. You lack the refinery and tastes of someone as old and accomplished as he, who is also accustomed to luxury,” Keira explained. 

As Keira took a drink of her wine, Iespeth demonstratively wiped her juice-covered mouth with the entire length of her forearm. She wanted to open her mouth and show the woman her chewed up food, but she knew she would just get another lecture on proper dining etiquette from the fancy sorceress.

Ciri fought to swallow the rather large wad of meat in her mouth so as not to spit out her food due to laughter. She took a deep gulp of weak ale from her metal tankard. Everyone except perhaps Iespeth, who was still inexperienced in hints and subtlety, knew what the sorceress was asking. They hoped Ciri wouldn't act on it.

“I suppose I _could_ ask him to join us. I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious as to what he is doing with that contraption and those crystals,” Ciri admitted. The two witchers scoffed.

“And the various acids he keeps producing. If this keeps up my supplies will diminish,” Maya added.

After lunch, Keira went to watch Lambert practice his swordplay with the other witchers while Iespeth began her lessons with Maya.

***

“May I be excused early? There is something I would like to do before it gets dark,” Iespeth asked her instructor politely after finishing her last dictation.

“Of course. It certainly seems as though you can afford it,” Maya replied.

Iespeth took off towards the main doors while Maya put the away the books she had used to teach the elf. Avallac'h was working nearby, but as usual, seemed aloof to all but his experiments. In general, she was glad that he rarely spoke to her unless requesting something for his mysterious experiment. She wasn't too keen on a mage which she barely knew finding out her secret. Apart from that, she thought not too highly of him based on the stories she had heard from Eskel and Lambert.

The red-headed healer was amazed at the speed at which her student was learning. It had only been two weeks and she was already writing complicated sentences and calculating sums. There was a particular book concerning such phenomena that she wished to consult whose location just happened to be near were the sage was working and was inconveniently on the top shelf. She stood on the balls of her feet reaching up to the tome but it was no use. Her small stature would not allow it. She contemplated hopping with the strength of a vampire, but knew the distance was too great to not seem obvious. She turned for a mere moment to look for a stool, but when she looked back the strange elf was standing but a half-arm's length away from her. Usually her keen senses would have alerted her to movement, but this man seemed to have eluded them. He reached up and removed the book she had been trying to retrieve.

“A Collection of Research on the Inner Workings of the Cerebrum,” he read aloud before looking into her eyes. She realized how tall he was as he looked down, towering above her.

“I...I must say it is astonishing how far she has come along in such a short time,” she stated, feeling as though she had to reply with something. “Tell me, is that normal for an el-...oh. Hmm, never mind,” she finished in a nervous chuckle. Maya, like any vampire, was so careful, but sometimes in moments of excitement or weakness, she slipped.

Avallac'h took a step closer, his lips slightly curling upward into an amused smile. 

“Did you truly expect me not to know?” he stated rhetorically. At least this time her sensitive hearing didn't fail her. She noted that all but Iespeth were near the large hearth and could come to her aid if need be. She was nervous, almost scared. She didn't know this mage, but she had heard of mages harming her kind with ease given the proper spell.

“I assume the others are aware?” he said, his large aquamarine eyes flashing as he looked in the direction of the four. Maya gave no answer and tried to control an body language that might give off that she was afraid. But he knew. He slowly moved closer to her. 

“You have no reason to be concerned about my intentions. We elves tend to live more harmoniously with those which humans call monsters. On my world, the few _fampir_ who were unlucky enough to have been deposited there after the Conjunction, live among us openly and are even permitted to drink from those who are willing. Niwed nid y rhai a gollodd eu cartrefi a chrwydro.  
Niwed nid y rhai na fyddent yn niweidio eich hun,” he said, offering her the book.

_Harm not those who lost their home and wander. Harm not those who would not harm yourself._ His Elder Speech was melodic and she was soothed by his words. It wasn't a spell, just a genuine statement. Maya took the book and let out the air she didn't realize she had been holding in with a silent huff. She felt she had misjudged him.

“I must admit, I find it flattering, that on a world dominated by humans, you chose the form of one of my own,” he continued, smiling kindly. “As to whether your pupil is abnormal: it is not unheard of for elves to excel in such areas, but as she is not a child her rate of learning is bit curious.”

_Mind of a child. Ciri had mentioned...but not here, not now. 'Do not talk of how we found her' Ciri said. Think of something else._

“Good to know.” Maya was quiet for a bit. “Well, will you need help finding any salts today? I thought with Iespeth gone early, I might help the lads with supper. You are welcomed to eat with us.” she asked. She knew that the two men would be annoyed by his presence but she was beginning to like him.

“I shall manage,” he answered, giving a bow of the head and continued with his work.

Maya left, unsure as to whether he had just agreed or declined.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

The tree just stood there. It didn't change. It didn't move. Iespeth stared at it. She was going to figure out this tree's secret, figure out what Lambert knew and she didn't. She paced around the tree so many times she lost count. She tried lightly kicking it. At some point her nose dripped a bit, so she wiped it with her hand and then cleaned it off on the tree. She stood there pondering, frustrated until she became rather cold. The mountain shadow had finally blocked the last bit of sunlight. _That's it!_ She took off as fast as she could back to the fortress.

***

Avallac'h wiped the shards of the crystal he had just broken onto the floor with his fist in dissatisfaction. The fumes coming from the reaction singed his nostrils. He was running out of ideas. Had he been on the world of his home, he might have sought out the physical attention of Maondine, -- _his G'ymar_ or companion-- to clear his mind and alleviate his frustration. But had he been on the world of his home, he would have had access to those with the appropriate expertise and would be lacking this frustration. He hadn't planned to do any experiments while he was on the Continent. The hypothesis had dawned on him the moment he arrived, which was why he was unprepared. _If there is time_ , he had thought. 

 

The sage decided to retreat to his tower where he could peacefully play his flute. He was hungry and although the vampire had invited him to supper, he did not feel welcome and preferred not to disturb Zireael and her friends. As usual, he would slink downstairs and into the kitchen for sustenance after all had gone to bed. Sleep was something he needed very little of.

He made his way up the extensive staircase and into his room. He grabbed his wooden flute lying on the table near the balcony and went outside to play. It was long and smooth with intricate designs burnt into the bistered wood. To a layman they were beautiful designs, but to those with an enlightened eye, they were runes to improve the sound of the instrument. As he pressed the mouth piece to his lips, he noticed some movement in front of the castle. It was the emerald-eyed she-elf, the impostor. She had various sticks and other such simple items under her arm. It seemed as though she was dancing, circling around a small tree and making markings. _Is she talking to herself? What is she up to?_

 

***

“I'm gonna show him. I'm going to show that...that...that fucker!”

Iespeth had finished drawing the circle in the dirt around the base of the tree, every point equally distanced from the trunk. She put down the very straight stick she had just used and placed a long piece of twine on the ring around the tree. When the length reached the front part of the twine she carefully cut it with a small knife she had found in the kitchen. Iespeth began folding the twine in halves until it was about the length of her hand. She took a piece of charcoal and marked each fold. After she had put the twine back on the circle, she began gathering pebbles from nearby. She always picked up two that had a similar color and shape and shoved them in her pocket. Once they were full, she turned towards the castle, her eye drawn to balconies that she had once desired to look out from. There he was staring down upon her. That he-elf. That pompous, judgmental elven sage peering out from his tower down upon her. 

It happened frequently that she caught him glaring at her out of the corner of her eye. Initially, she would look towards him to confirm that it was in fact her that he was looking at, at which point he would turn away. But lately she just ignored him. _Let him look. He'll be gone in two weeks and I'll never have to see him again_ , she thought as she marched back to the keep.

When she arrived in the grand hall everyone had already taken their place and had begun eating the same thing that they had had for lunch.

“Where have you been?” Ciri asked as Iespeth grabbed a plate and sat down across from her.

“Oh just collecting my thoughts,” she said almost unable to hold back the smirk on her face. She made sure not to look at Lambert as she knew she would otherwise lose it. _I'll prove to him that I know he is lying._

“So Maya tells me that your hand is healing rather nicely,” Eskel said after a moment of silence. Iespeth held up her open palm to show him. It had a hefty scab on it.

“It still hurts, but the balm helps. I'll be glad when I don't have to use that goop anymore because it smells terribly foul,” Iespeth stated.

“It'll be a nice scar. Pretty soon we'll put a sword in your hand. Well, at least a wooden practice one. All the others that were lying around this dump have rusted beyond use,” Eskel clarified.

“I would like that,” Iespeth replied.

“Maya tells me you can essentially already read and write?” Ciri asked, her awe obvious. Before Iespeth could confirm Keira Metz replied, taking the opportunity to reveal a theory she had.

“Yes, of course we are all impressed with the speed at which Iespeth's scholarly abilities are coming along. Now before we all get excited I believe there is a more logical explanation. I am perfectly aware of how you and Lambert found her and what her state of mind was,” she said looking at Ciri. “I've also spoken with Triss Merrigold, and Ciri pleased don't be vexed with her. She only revealed to me that she had tended to her after I had made it clear that I was aware of the situation. Playing stupid would have been counter-productive. Besides, Triss and I have always had a good rapport. But back to the subject at hand. The reason, I believe, that she is able to learn reading and writing so quickly is most likely because she already knew how before whatever happened to her happened to her. She is essentially remembering what she already knew.”

Maya felt the need to give her input as well since she had been working the closest with the elf the past two weeks.

“That is a possibility, but Avallac'h brought up something curious. And just to be clear, he mentioned this without any prompting. He mentioned her rate of learning being peculiar even though she is not a child. Children do have an enormous propensity for learning in their youngest years. And that is just it. Ciri, you yourself said she has the mind of a child. This could explain what seems to be an abnormal talent.”

Iespeth contemplated what they were saying. Both theories seemed perfectly logical and the truth might have been a mixture of the two. As the two women were about to continue their discussion she heard footsteps behind her.

“I hope I won't be disturbing you,” the sage said, who was now standing close enough to Iespeth she could smell him. The scent of fog, like that which she ran through every morning, and other scents she couldn't recognize, trickled into her nostrils.

“Of course not. Please, do join us,” Keira said, inviting him to take a chair next to her. He grabbed a plateful and made himself comfortable next to Ciri. No one spoke. They watched as he carefully cut up his meat in tiny pieces, hardly making a sound. Everyone seemed more curious rather than uncomfortable. It wasn't until the elven mage began carefully cutting up his roll with his knife and fork that someone broke the silence.

“Why don't you touch your food with your fingers?” Iespeth asked in a confrontational manner. “Would that be considered too un- _elle_ -egant where you're from?” she continued picking up her own roll with her hand and taking a demonstratively large bite.

Ciri stifled a giggle while Eskel and Lambert both made a loud snort. Maya was luckily able to turn a laugh into a cough. Only the sorceress showed displeasure.

“Iespeth! Manners!” she snapped.

“Sorry,” she said with her mouth full, her emerald eyes drilling into him. He looked back at her with his large aquamarines. It was as if four gems had been set together in a piece of jewelry. Avallac'h might have been offended, but he just enjoyed having _those_ eyes sear into him, although it was a fact he tried to hide.

“In a place where hygiene can be difficult, it is best not to touch one's food. It is the most proven way to avoid a dysenteric bowel,” he finally replied not breaking eye contact. When she made a face suggesting she didn't know what that meant he continued, “An extreme case of diarrhea.” She still didn't understand. He remembered in which company she was in. “Shit so liquid it squirts uncontrollably out of you.” 

Iespeth looked over at the others wanting confirmation. The red-headed healer gave her a he-is-not-wrong shake of the head. The elf immediately felt the idea of swallowing the bread she had in her mouth to hold little appeal. If she had a napkin she would have subtly use it to remove the contents of her mouth like Keira had taught her, but an unpleasant feeling was developing in her stomach so she just spit out the wad into her hand. She spitefully threw the gooey lump and the half-eaten roll onto her plate and began staring at the table with a huff.

In any other case, Avallac'h would have been pleased at his success. Getting the upper hand of an opponent with mere words was satisfying to any person. But now those eyes were no longer looking at him. She was no longer looking at him. He continued to look at her, hoping she might look back into his eyes, but it was useless. Now she seemed more preoccupied with tracing the grains on the wooden table with her knife.

_Looking at me. Always looking at me. Probably in smug, triumphant superiority. Two weeks, only two weeks and then never again_ , Iespeth thought, refusing to take her eyes away from the table.

“Well, I could go for a drink. Thing is, is that we have to go get a cask from storage out near the gauntlet. Could be...could be tricky. Iespeth, would you like to help?” Eskel said getting up from the table. She had become socially aware enough that she understood his offer of rescue and gladly got up with him.

“Those uh, those casks can be a real bitch. And with the contents being flammable...I think they might need someone who has a bit more experience with vodka,” Lambert added while leaving the table as well. He wasn't about to sit through a talk of magic, potions, and whatever else the women and Avallac'h might talk about. 

Ciri wished to go with the three, but Avallac'h had finally joined them. Part of her wanted to know why, but mostly she felt that if she didn't stay, he would retreat back to his tower. As much as she didn't like to admit it to herself, she did sometimes enjoy his strange company. After all, this 'Knowing One' did know much about many things.

 

***

_Huch huch_. It burnt going down her throat.

“Go on, have another. Consider it a part of your training plan. Pour Eskel,” Lambert commanded.

“It tastes awful,” she replied, gulping down the next one.

Eskel poured a third round for all three. “You'll get used to it.”

The she-elf and the two witchers had stationed themselves at another table, preferring an evening of debauchery as opposed to intelligent discussion. 

“I feel strange,” Iespeth said, taking the third shot.

“That just means it's working,” Lambert clarified, while Eskel poured them both another round. The scarred witcher filled a glass with half ale and half water for the inexperienced she-elf. She tasted it and seemed to prefer it over the strong liquor she had just drank. There was a warm feeling creeping throughout her body and her head felt funny. She listened to the two talk, with a slightly dumb grin on her face and then looked over at Ciri who was listening to the two mages and a vampire discuss something.

***

“For what ultimate purpose is irrelevant. A substance strong enough to etch runes into a crystal without causing it to conclusively shatter is what I require. I was hoping either of you would be able to assist!” the sage exclaimed. Ciri was listening haphazardly with her head resting on her two fists.

Maya, although knowledgeable in chemistry, generally stuck to substances meant to heal as opposed to those of a caustic nature. She was perfectly resigned to let the two mages solve the problem. Keira would have been annoyed at the sage's lack of transparency if she hadn't been so excited to get a chance to work with him.

“Hmm. I do have an idea. But it might require the help of one or two of the gentlemen over there. You see, the bile of a forktail is particularly mordant. With some distillation to make it pure, we might have something to work with,” the sorceress explained. At the mention of the witchers, Ciri looked over to their table of debauchery. She looked over at Iespeth who was grinning like a fool and talking.

***

Lambert and Eskel looked at each other, both wondering how to shut Iespeth up. She had been rambling on and on about trivial things. Initially, due to their intoxication they found the blather amusing, but as time went on they found it boring. The two witchers stopped trying to figure out how she went from enjoying a bath to a description of birds chirping. Her intoxication had turned her mouth into a waterfall with no intention of stopping. 

“Let's play a game, shall we!” Lambert interrupted.

“Ooo, I've never played a game before!” Iespeth squealed rather loudly, slapping her hands together. She noticed a few heads at the other table turn her way, but the alcohol made her not care.

“Funny you should say that. The game is called 'I have never'. You say something you have never done and if the others have done it, then they drink. I'll start. I have never banged a red head,” Lambert said.

“What if I've done that but don't remember?” Iespeth questioned.

“Just go with whatcha know since we first _met_ ,” he said, glancing at the elven sage to see if he was paying attention.

Eskel took a drink.

“I've never banged a sorceress,” Eskel replied. Lambert drank. Iespeth was prepared with her drink in hand, but left it on the table.

“Issit my turn? I've never banged,” she said proudly not because she hadn't 'banged', but because she had made her opponents drink. That was the point of this game was it not?

“Well that was a bit too easy. I've never cuddled with a goat while completely stewed,” Lambert snickered.

“Oh for...Did Geralt tell you that? I's just using Lil' Bleater to help myself stand up,” Eskel said, trying to defend himself. Lambert wasn't buying it. Eskel resigned himself with a sigh and took a drink. “T'be fair that goat was the most loyal animal I've ever known...including my 'orse, Scorpion. My turn. I've never squatted in a patch of stinging nettle to take a dump...and liked it!” 

“And now ya know why I'm happy under the thumb of a sorceress,” Lambert said gladly, while taking a deep drink of his vodka.

Iespeth wasn't really sure what to say. She hadn't done much, but also had few ideas of what she had never done. She surmised that the two witchers were merely recounting their past with each other which made her position in this game a bit more difficult. She looked over at Ciri who was in conversation with Keira and Maya. Avallac'h just sat there observing the women. It took her a few moments in her drunken haze to realize that the vampire and sorceress both had dresses on, albeit of different caliber. She recalled Ciri having worn one as well in Kovir. 

“Well, Ears? You're up! Quickly now, I don't wanna lose my buzz,” demanded Lambert, although all three were past the point of mild intoxication.

“Um. I've never worn a dress I guess,” she said, thinking she would achieve no success. The two witchers looked at each other. Eskel made a face suggesting the two lie. Lambert sighed and then slowly put his mug to his lips. Eskel followed suit and the two drank. Iespeth smiled stupidly in triumph. 

 

The game continued on like this. While her two companions continued to reveal progressively more embarrassing information about the other, Iespeth sat there with a full stein of beer. She began to think there was no actual goal of winning this game and that the point was merely to drink. But she refused to break the rules.

“I've never insulted an elf while having wood,” Eskel said giggling towards Lambert. Lambert had developed a rather formidable case of hiccups.

“That...*hic*...wasn't...*hic*...me!”

“Then whootha hell was it!”

Before Lambert could answer, Iespeth slammed her mug on the table. “It's not fair! You two...you wait! You just wait.”

Iespeth struggled to free herself from the confines of the bench she was sitting on. She grabbed a small plank leaning against the wall and staggered over to where the Avallac'h was silently sitting with the other women. As she approached him she became nervous despite her level of intoxication. The elven sage noticed her and began watching as she stumbled towards him. As her eyes caught his she looked off, veering away from her original goal. The she-elf walked over to a table with a large wheel of cheese on it and a hefty dagger stuck next to the plate in the wood. She placed the plank onto the ground and steadied herself against the rough table top. After she regained her nerves, she yanked the blade out of the wood and cut herself a hunk of cheese. As she took a bite, she had an idea. With the knife in her right hand and the cheese in her left she walked past the “mage” table as well as the “witcher” table. She continued on to the entrance of the tower with the two balconies. Iespeth began hacking into the door.

The witchers were intrigued. They observed that none of the others took notice to the she-elf's debauchery and wondered themselves what she was up too. She came back with a large smile on her face and began downing her ale.

“What in seven hells did you do to the door?”

“I wrote 'ass' in the elf's _wooden_ door! So, now Ima llowed to drink.” Iespeth seemed to break out into a cackle. Eskel and Lambert were delighted by her misunderstanding of wood and began to laugh loudly, attracting the attention of the others.

“Ya know, back in the day you'da gotten a tanned hide for something like that. But I think this might be a decorative change for the better. Cheers to castle improvements,” Lambert said, raising his mug. Eskel banged his glass against Lambert's and Iespeth followed suit.

The enlightening conversations or drunken revelry, depending of course which table one sat at, continued late into the night. At some point Ciri caught herself resting her cheek bone on her closed fist and desired to shut her eyes. She decided to end the conversation she wasn't taking part in and made her way to Iespeth. Only, Iespeth was no longer sitting with the witchers. They informed her that she head gone outside to “break the seal” and that perhaps someone should check on her as it had been a good while since she had left.

Ciri found her not far from the great hall. She had her left leg free of her pants with her bare ass exposed and was trying to get her foot up onto a brick that was sticking out from a wall.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Iespeth turned to Ciri and looked at her like a doppler caught changing.

“Ya see Ciri, iv I get my leg up here, I can pee like a man! Standin up ya know. But I just gotta...” Iespeth continued trying to inch her left foot up the wall towards the brick without success. It made no sense really, but when did a first-time drunk person ever make sense.

“Oh no. Iespeth, how many drinks did Lambert give you?” Ciri said shaking her head.

Iespeth paused for a moment and lowered her leg to think. She then held out her hands and explained she had “this many drinkses”. Ciri made her squat and get her business over with. Then, with exceedingly much trouble, got her friend's leg back into her pants and, with a little help from a miracle, her boot on as well. Ciri decided to just carry Iespeth's cinch, as she'd be going straight to bed anyway. She hoped the elf wouldn't catch a cold, as it had become rather chilly, but decided with a healer and two mages in the fortress it was something that could be dealt with. Ciri thought about the first night they met when she practically carried Iespeth down a mountain. This night was hardly different sans the decline. After getting through the large doors they encountered Avallac'h who was making his way to his quarters. He looked down at the inebriated elf with a face of disapproval. He knew what he wanted to say, but it made no sense telling her in this state. Another time then.

Iespeth looked him with hardy focused eyes and pointed to his door.

“Id wasn't me,” she informed him and began immediately giggling. Avallac'h exhaled and Ciri continued taking the elf to her bed.

When Avallac'h got to his door he saw a triangle, a five and some indecipherable scratch marks gouged into the oak door. He grimaced, huffed and then made his way up to his bed.

The next morning Lambert, although also severely hung over, made his trainee run the Killer. She vomited twice before finishing even though having had no breakfast. She had begun to understand the concept of 'poison'.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

He knew this tower. He knew it well in fact, but not in this state. The decrepit and up-heaved steps were now perfectly spaced and leveled, making climbing them less of a task. The complicated archways were whole and although made of a gray gneiss, seemed to shimmer none the less. Perhaps this is how it looked when first built. The last time he had been there it was merely a functioning ruin. He had gone there, wondering why Zireael had used her power and if she was okay. The time before that he had opened the Great Gate--the portal of all portals--and watched as that same Lady of Time and Space stepped inside. But this was no memory.

Something compelled him to walk up the rest of the steps where the portal emerged. When he arrived, he saw figures standing in a circle seemingly frozen in time. A closer examination revealed the figures to be elves; some of whom he knew and some he didn't. He recognized Ge'els, King of the Alders standing close to a woman of exquisite beauty with long blond hair piled intricately on her head. He saw the king's sister Alais, a sage of auburn hair and yellow eyes with her hand on the lower back of a male elf of similar height wearing a decorative scarf covering his right eye. All the faces, familiar or not, were looking towards the center where a mass of light seemed to upsurge, with itself as the source. At first an arbitrary form, it began to pull itself in tightly almost resembling a humanoid form. Then a hoarse voice seemed to emanate from it.

“Thrice shall the blood of the ancients summon. And thrice shall the call be answered. On the third, an incomplete gift shall be offered, though it is not theirs to be given. The blood shall flow or dry.”

Avallac'h awoke with frozen beads of sweat scattered across his body. It wasn't that uncommon for powerful mages to cast minor spells while unconscious and experiencing intense visions. This was the second time he had had this dream. The first time, he was on the world of the Aen Elle and shortly after felt that unmistakable shock wave which he believed only Zireael could create. The difficult part now was deciphering what this prophetic illusion meant.

He rose from his bed with a sense of relief that he would be leaving today. The dream had woken him earlier than he had intended, but that wouldn't be a problem however, since his experiment would be conducted at the first day's light. He slung the silk blanket off to the side exposing his naked body to the cold breath of Kaer Morhen. He felt an almost imperceptible change in the air and surmised it would snow in the afternoon. Irrelevant though, as he planned to be gone before then.

The past four weeks had been taxing on him. He grew tired of this unsophisticated place and was more than eager to return to his world and be amongst his own people.

Avallac'h moved over to the desk chair were he had methodically draped his clothing the previous night. He could have summoned his clothes onto his body, but preferred to dress himself by hand considering he had the time. There was something ritualistic about adding items of clothing piece by piece to one's own body. He did look forward though to having a fresh set of attire as he tied his currant-colored sash. After buckling his belt, the proud sage stood in front of the mirror to examine himself. He used a simple spell to restiffen the crushed feathers he wore decoratively on his right shoulder and then centered his brooch which held his cloak around his nape. He examined the reflection of his face noting the same distinct age lines that he had had for centuries. The elf, like nearly all of the Aen Elle, had effectively not aged and although appeared slighty mature, was actually much older than anyone on the Continent could have guessed. 

He made his way down the many steps of the tower running his hand along the rough, frigid stones. The sage stepped lightly and listened for motion in the great hall. He assumed no one would be up yet. He walked briskly to the kitchen to snag something small to eat. As he stood in front of a table facing the massive fire, he looked through large hearth's opening out into the hall. The small bit of natural smoke emanating from the flames made his eyes water causing him to wipe them with the back side of his soft, supple leather glove. His vision now cleared, he peered through the opening to see Zireael slumbering cozily in her cot. It calmed him seeing her so serene. Avallac'h remembered how uneasy she slept when they were on the run together. Looking at her now made him genially smile.

The tall elf looked beyond the unconscious ashen-haired woman, seeing an empty cot with disheveled blankets strewn haphazardly about. Before he could realize the significance of this, he heard a small pebble scraping against the cold, stone floor behind him. He turned around catching the she-elf in a fixed pose as if being caught trying to escape the scene of a crime. She seemed snared by his glare.

“What are you doing lurking in the dark?” asked the sage, hoping to achieve an affable tone. Apart from when they initially met, this was the first time he had been alone with her, which never seemed to occur despite subtle efforts. He was torn between old feelings which her face forced to emerge –mostly due to her resemblance to Lara Dorren-- and suspicion as to why an elf looking so much like his deceased love had taken up Ciri's company. He wondered if she had any connection to his dream, but concluded that at this point it was too early to tell.

Iespeth turned slowly, her emerald eyes gleaming as they reached the right angle of firelight.

The truth was she didn't wish to interact with him. At the best of times he behaved in a manner which Iespeth found difficult to decipher and at the worst of times he seemed arrogant and smug. Keira had once told her that it wasn't always productive saying what one truly felt at which point Ciri had made an aggressive scoff. She decided since this 'Aen Elle' was leaving today, she would for once take the lady sorceress' advice over the one she trusted most. 

“I'm getting something to eat before I train. Lambert doesn't allow me to have certain things. Says I'll puke if I eat them,” she said, implying the bread in her hand was the issue.

The firelight coming from behind the large elven mage turned any facial expression he made into a tenebrous blur. It was unsettling, as Iespeth came to rely on such hints during social interaction.

“I was under the impression that meat and cheese were the offenders under suspect,” he endeavored to tease. Due to non-visible facial expressions and a rather dry tone with only slight hints of playfulness, the emerald-eyed she-elf took it as interrogatory.

She looked at him, unsure of what to say. _How does he know?_ Iespeth wasn't sure which feeling towards him was stronger: fear or aversion.

Avallac'h sensed she wished to leave, but refused to let this opportunity pass. He had been there for four weeks and knew hardly a thing about this woman. The others were so tight lipped when on the subject of Iespeth--that is, they never brought it up. He never attempted to sow seeds and prompt them into talking about her as it was too risky. He had hoped by spending time around Keira Metz she would slip something about the elf, who had been spending significant time with her own partner Lambert. Human sorceresses were known for gossiping endlessly to improve their social status or feed information. Though mostly consisting of lies, an elven sage had little difficulty picking out the grains of truth. But from her came nothing as well.

“Zireael has not mentioned where you are from, but I take it by your lack of knowledge of the Elder Speech, you aren't from Dol Blathanna. Where then?” he asked.

“Zireael?” Iespeth asked, hoping to divert any questions.

Avallac'h sighed. This Seidhe standing before him reminded him how much the elves--both Elle and Seidhe--had lost.

“It means Swallow. It is the name we elves gave the Lady of Time and Space,”

Iespeth looked at him quizzically then smiled amused. She said nothing for a few minutes.

_She didn't ask what that means. _“Are you from the Northern Kingdoms?” he continued.__

Iespeth nodded. It seemed logical that one might think her of the Northern Kingdoms. After all, all her companions were from the North and she had learned to speak from them.

“Judging by your accent, perhaps Gwendeith?”

“Yes. Gwendeith,” Iespeth lied. _It certainly sounds like an elvish city._

It was all nonsense of course. Gwendeith was a fortress in the south on the eastern border of Nilfgaard inhabited by old --and therefore presumably sterile-- Aen Seidhe who had refused to take part in the senseless killing of Northern humans unlike their younger brethren. If any elf had even spent some time there, they would have been fluent in the Elder Speech.

Avallac'h held back a celebratory grin. He wouldn't push her further as to where she was from. He knew she wouldn't tell him anyways. This was a part of his cleverness, letting one think they'd fooled him. Besides, there were other things to find out.

The emerald-eyed elf examined him, trying to decipher what he wanted. Her cinch had become uncomfortable, but she resisted the urge to shift it to a new location on her waist. She then opened her mouth as if to speak and paused for a moment. Avallac'h, always curious as to what information she might reveal, waited patiently, silently beckoning her to speak.

“I wonder, what blabber comes out of a sage's mouth when there are only pointy ears to listen?” Lambert unexpectedly interrupted. The two looked at him. Avallac'h, though annoyed, held his hands calmly folded below his stomach. Iespeth uneasiness was noticeable to both men. 

“Does he tell beautiful romantic tales of Aen Elle? How they play flute and paint murals? Maybe he told you about the time his kind attacked this castle and killed a good man? Broke his neck with a flick of a wrist. Or perhaps how they have kidnapped people and taken them to their own world for fuck only knows?” he continued.

_Why would he bring up such a subject at random? He is not upset about Vesemir, nor is he looking for recompense_ , thought the sage. Avallac'h found it curious that not only was this witcher behaving in a protective manner towards the blonde elf, he seemed to be actively trying to convince her to stay away from him. There was no point in trying to “win the crowd”, but he was obliged to respond.

“Am I to deny the crimes of the Alder Folk? Or perhaps enumerate the extensive list of atrocities committed by humans in order to defend myself? No. Creatures of all forms, even those of _lesser_ intelligence, have a capacity for barbarity. No extent of...how do you say... verbal 'pissing contests' will determine who is more in the wrong. But I ask you this witcher, on the subject of the crimes of a species, which of us must cover their heads when traversing the Continent?”

_Planting seeds._ Avallac'h gave a slight tip of the head towards the emerald-eyed elf and walked tranquilly out of the kitchen. It pained him to leave, but it was necessary. 

Iespeth watched the tall elf gracefully walk away and thought about his words.

Lambert and Iespeth ate their usual meal and set off to train as soon as became light. As she had been doing every day for the past two weeks, Iespeth placed one of the two stones she had in her pockets near 'her' tree and continued towards the Killer.

***  
The air had a certain chill to it yet felt refreshing on her flushed face. Ciri lunged again at the training dummy, thrusting her sword where it counted with a grunt. She leapt back, returning to her fighting stance, preparing to lunge again. The poor thing consisted of an old potato sack packed with leaves moistened by the elements, having made it smell rather rank even though it added a certain feeling of authenticity to a stab. At some point the old thing would have to be replaced.

Ciri took note of the richly colored yellow, orange and red leaves strewn across the courtyard by the autumn winds and surmised it would make for adequate innards of a new training dummy. She relaxed her stance and nudged a clump of mud off the back of her boot while looking out onto the training yard. It wouldn't be long before Iespeth would stand in this very space and practice lunges, pirouettes, and remises.

“Thinking about the future?” came a lulling voice from behind.

There, Ciri's once mentor stood tall and regal with his staff in hand. He had a multitude of small pouches attached to his belt, presumably filled with various potions, powders, and herbs. On his right hip hung a short sword in a scabbard of delicate elven design. Coming down his temples were two simple braids on either side of his face enunciating his ears whose tips were slightly pink due to the cold. _He means to leave now._ Ciri felt slightly guilty having lost track of the days till his departure. She knew that she was most likely the only one he would bid farewell.

“Perhaps. But that shouldn't interest you should it?” she replied rhetorically. Avallac'h gave her the slightest of smiles.

“Walk with me.”

The two made their way through the courtyard and eventually to the front gate.

“You plan to spend your winter here. And then?”

“As usual, it's the Path for me.”

“Ah yes, the witcher's Path. A rather lonely lifestyle is it not, Zireael?”

Ciri laughed. “Says the Aen Saeverhne traveling from world to world alone conducting experiments and collecting data.”

“Hmm. I presume then you would like to know what I found out with my experiment? What data I collected?”

“Me? No. Spells and experiments of such secret nature have never concerned me,” she replied with a deep sarcasm.

“What spell I cast and how I conducted the experiment is irrelevant. You might, however, find it interesting to know that since we last parted, the passage of time on my world occurs laterally to yours. That is, in the two months I have been on the Continent, two months will have passed on the world of the Aen Elle.”

“That's it? That's what you have been doing this whole time?” Ciri scoffed.

“Do not underestimate the acquisition of knowledge, Zireael. You cannot predict whether it will be useful, nor when it might be needed,” Avallac'h said in that particular tone he took when lecturing her. “Oh, and do feel free to inform your sorceress as well as to my results. Her ability to contain her penetrative curiosity was rather lacking as was her capability of understanding the topic of time.”

“Well, you did have her working on doing something with crystals. You can hardly blame her for wanting to know what for.”

The two were now standing on the small bridge in front of the portcullis. Ciri escorted him down the dirt ramp that lead away from the castle until they were standing not too far from the stream from which they collected fresh water in the summer. The two stood there for a few moments listening to the clean mountain water weave its path through small dacite stones. Periodically, one would abandon its post and gently scrape along the greywacke base of this infant of a river. The calm of nature was broken by Iespeth shouting at Lambert standing next to a tree some ways off in the distance.

Avallac'h inspected the witcher and his pupil longer than seemed necessary. Ciri watched him. His large, aquamarine eyes suggested a subtle hint of sorrow. She recalled his frequent stares at her elven friend during the time that he was at Kaer Morhen. Ciri opened her mouth, but instead of speaking, passed it off as an attempt to acquire fresh air. _Do you think of her when you look at my friend? Does her face bring you memories?_ , she wanted to ask. It had often been said by many that Iespeth looked like Ciri. She knew from her time with the Aen Elle that she herself resembled the infamous Lara Dorren, her elven ancestor. It was from her that she had her gift and her curse. She also knew that Lara had been very important to her Aen Saevherne friend, but lacked any details. If Ciri had asked those questions in the aged sage's current vulnerable state he would have answered her honestly: “Yes. Memories of a love that few, whether elf or human, will ever experience. Memories of a bond so strong, that breaking it would certainly result in death. And yet I live and she does not. I endure. Memories of pain burning so intensely that the notion of dousing the wound with molten rock sounds soothing.” But she didn't ask.

Avallac'h internally regained his mental composure and turned back to Ciri.

“It is time I be off. Gates have no patience for their passengers,” he said.

“Will I see you again?”

Avallac'h thought back to his dream now twice had. He said with a positive smile, “If that is what destiny has decided. Va'fail, Ciri.”

_We will meet again and I do hope **she** is with you._

She watched him continue at a casual pace, carefully placing the butt of his staff on the ground before each step. Just before the path bent through the forest, he paused for a good moment looking towards the emerald-eyed she-elf. He then lifted his hood onto his head, and with a few strides he was as good as gone.

***

“This just won't do,” Lambert said, convincingly disappointed. “You need to push yourself harder. Maybe we should have you skip breakfast.” Despite the cold he still had a trickle of sweat on his forehead.

Iespeth squinted her eyes at him and pursed her lips. Lambert continued with the bereavement. Today was the day she would show him. Today she would reveal she knew his trick.

“THAT IS IT! You are a LIAR,” she yelled angrily. She grabbed him by the arm trying to force him to follow her. Though she had built some muscle in the past few weeks, she was still unable to physically move a man the size of Lambert with brute force.

“Come with me!” she demanded. He followed her with a smirk wondering what she wished to show him. She led him to a tree with what seemed to him to be surrounded by strangely arranged trash.

“You have been lying to me! Do you see here? These are the pebbles for when I start and these are for when I finish. These two here are from the day after drinking and these two are from today. All the others are from in between. The distance gets shorter and shorter every day. I AM getting faster! What do you have to say now!” She looked at him with an odd mixture of triumph and anger.

_She fashioned a sun dial and measured her times._ Lambert was tickled and rather impressed with her ingenuity. He took a deep breath. She followed suite. When they both exhaled, the frost on their breath was visible. The witcher looked around, as if to keep her in suspense.

“Let me see your hand,” he commanded. She held out her left hand, which he grabbed rather roughly. She winced expecting it to hurt. Lambert examined her wound which at this point was a thick, white scar similar to a few he had on his own body. He vigorously poked and prodded his thumb into her palm.

“Does it hurt?”

Iespeth shook her head.

“Good. We'll start with a sword first thing tomorrow morning. We have about four months of winter ahead of us and you'll need that time to learn how to fight. Otherwise you can expect more of this,” he said holding up her hand.

He let go of her hand and began walking back to the fortress. Iespeth stood there for a bit processing his behavior. _He lied to push me. Didn't he?_ She contemplated what kind of new tactics he might use for the exercises that was she soon to undergo. It made her anxious, but without more information she couldn't really prepare herself. 

She looked up to go and was startled to see _him_ standing but a few paces away from her tree. The only other elf she knew. The Aen Elle sage. Avallac'h. Staring at her like he frequently did. _He is leaving. Good._ Instead of ignoring him this time, she stared right back into his judging eyes 'knowing' this would be the last time she would have to see him. And for a moment she thought maybe there was a hint of some other emotion in his face she couldn't quite put her finger on. Some subtle hint in his eyes forced a conjecture in her mind that perhaps his glares were not all negative. And for just a moment, she felt almost sad to see him go.

The sage lifted his hood over his head and walked away.

Iespeth thought about the last words he had said to her. Although she hadn't enjoyed his presence, a part of her felt unpleasantness by his absence. The only other of her kind was now gone. She walked back to the castle, unable to enjoy her small victory of the day.

***

That evening the first snow fell. Iespeth lay in her cot next to Ciri, sleep seeming far away. She looked over at the shadows that were dancing on the large wall murals. They seemed to make the figures in the paintings come to life. She thought about when Ciri had found her and tried to remember the other elves she had seen. Still pictures would come to mind like the paintings on the wall, but she was unable to make out the circumstances. She remembered having to cover her ears, but still wasn't sure why.

“Ciri?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did I have cover my head before?”

Ciri wasn't prepared for the question and wasn't sure how to explain.

“Some people think certain things about others based on how they look.”

“Oh. What do they think about elves?”

_That they stole their necklace. That they cheated them. That they seduced their husband with spells. That they raped their daughter. That they hexed their baby. That they should be burned at the stake. All of them._

“Elves and humans...they haven't always gotten along. Some humans don't care for the elves,” Ciri said, not able to tell her the entire and brutal truth. Iespeth noticed the quiver in her voice.

“Have they hurt elves? Hurt them, just because of who they are?”

“It has happened on occasion. But get some rest, you have a big day tomorrow.”

The night was restful for neither of the two. Ciri remembered Geralt showing her the ruins of Shaerewedd. He explained that all the elves had built had been destroyed and the elves were dying. She thought about Aegar and his troupe having fled Novigrad in fear of being 'relocated'. She wondered how they were faring. She remembered seeing charred remains of non-humans whose crisp flesh was fastened with wire to burnt wooden stakes. She knew the elves were being hunted until they became extinct. But that was all different. Iespeth was with her. She would be safe, Ciri was sure of it. The nocent lie helped her fall asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out the story is going to contain more violence. I will still put a warning before each chapter, but it will be more present.
> 
> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

“Oh Lambert, you think that is being tough on the girl? The way you pamper her she wouldn't have lasted a day in my younger days as a pupil at Aretuza. So you lied to her to get her to push herself while running? I know you can do better! Remember, she needs to be prepared for that cruel world that she will go out into once the snows pass,” Keira told him.

Lambert remembered that night vividly. He had been happy that the sage had finally left. He wished to enjoy the evening until Keira stressed to him the importance of his duty to his pupil. Reminding himself of that “cruel world” and all the horrors it held kept him concentrated as he taught the young she-elf. He looked into her big emerald-eyes as her arms shook from holding up a wooden sword the entire morning.

It hadn't snowed in two days, which at this point was a record. Despite a slight breeze, the Gauntlet overlooking the yard where he and Iespeth were training remained still. The blasted thing was forced to stay put with the weight of snow on it. Iespeth wished she could have continued fighting the wooden contraption. No matter how often it knocked her to the ground, it was still more merciful than Lambert had become.

Due to a lengthy bit of vigorous training, the snow on the ground was packed solidly. Although it was easier on Iespeth's aching thighs, it made traction difficult and her footing unsure. She held her wooden sword in both hands preparing for the witcher's next onslaught. She watched his shift in weight just as he'd taught her and anticipated an attack from the left. Lambert twirled his sword making it look as if his weapon could come at her from any direction. When he finally swung the elf moved her sword to the predicted position and deflected his attack. He lunged at her to which she replied with a parry. This was the first time she had withstood two attacks in a row. Iespeth was accustomed to getting a rap on the forearm or a painful prod to the shoulder. She took too long silently congratulating herself and was met on the right with a painful blow to the thigh.

“Pay attention! I'm going to do the same two attacks again and instead of patting yourself on the fucking back you better riposte!”

She gripped the hilt of the rough wooden hilt of her training sword and prepared. Lambert wiped away the subtle frost that had accumulated in his beard, shifted his weight to the left, and attacked.

_Attack on the left. Defend. Lunge. Parry. Riposte._

Before she made contact with his torso he pirouetted away.

“Again.”

_Attack on the left. Defend. Lunge. Parry. Riposte. Pirouette._

This round was much faster than the first. Though it may have looked sloppy, Iespeth muddled through. She suppressed a proud smile.

Lambert attacked with the same speed again.

_Attack on the left. Defend. Lunge. Parry. Riposte. Pirouette._

This time, Iespeth was quicker, although still not fast enough to meet the witcher before he pirouetted away. Her moves were precise and she understood her success. She held up her sword confidently awaiting his offensive. Lambert shifted his weight elaborately to the left.

_This will be easy. Too easy_ , she thought skeptically. _Ow!_

Lambert leaped forward to her right side, swung his sword backwards and gave his pupil a forceful blow to her inner knee. Iespeth dropped down and made a deep howl. He looked down at her sinisterly.

“That was a fake,” Lambert said. He began laughing at his trick, turned, and slowly walked away.

Iespeth was seething with anger. He had never told her about a fake, never once mentioned that as a move. It wasn't fair. She could feel her face turning red, her outrage circulating through her blood. She ignored the throbbing pain in her knee, leapt up and charged after him. She raised her sword over her head and as she reached her “enemy” tried with all her might to bash his cruel skull.

It all happened rather quickly. 

Lambert, with no trouble and without looking, raised his carved piece of timber behind his back at the appropriate angle, causing the elf's sword to slide down it at such great force she lost her weapon. She slipped on a patch of ice and decided to retreat and attack again. Remembering one of Ciri's moves, she rolled back and rushed the fucker. Lambert dropped his sword and let her assail him shoulder first.

She was met with nothing but what seemed like a stomach full of immovable stones, causing her to be knocked back. Before she could orient herself the witcher was roughly digging his fingers into her shoulder with his left hand and gripping her thigh just below the butt cheek. He tossed her effortlessly yet harshly into the snow. When she landed, her hands met a patch of ice causing them to slip out from underneath her. Her nose met the cold, hard surface.

_I can't breathe._

Her mind was hazy from the blow. It took all her concentration to pull her head up and inhale the abundant oxygen around her. She felt a wetness gushing down her mouth. A large pool of blood was below her face. The snow seemed to zealously lap up the crimson liquid with great fervor as the ground below the elf's head grew redder.

“What was that?” Lambert reamed. He continued once the bleeding had slowed and Iespeth was back on her feet. “Do you think you're a bull charging it's way through a crowd? Don't ever go for an all-power attack. You don't have the size or the muscle mass for it and you never will. Most of your opponents, even the lighter ones are going to be stronger than you. You have to use their weight and power against them. You have to be fast and agile and get around their defenses. Now get your sword up keep it in your hand unless you want me to made sure that nose keeps bleeding!”

Iespeth moved over to sword which was partially covered by snow from the scuffle. She bent down slowly, trying to ignore the ache in her knee and her sore thigh muscles. As she rose she noticed that signature ashen hair out of the corner of her eyes. She turned to look at Ciri who stood there seething. Iespeth wanted to make her proud, show her that she could fight just like her.

The she-elf stood up straight, walked over to Lambert and took her fighting stance, all while trying to ignore her own blood in the snow below her boots.

***

He heard the footsteps, far away but clear to his sensitive hearing. They were loud on purpose, he could tell. The anger in the stride was obvious and he hoped--though he knew better--that she was not coming to him. 

Eskel focused on his task. His saddle had developed a hole near the cantle on his way to Kaer Morhen and with every stride his horse took, the hole grew. It was nothing a few leather scraps couldn't fix for the time being. He knew he would have to get his saddle reupholstered once he was in a city again, but for now a witcher's stitch would have to suffice.

The light was dim and flit about with every breeze that blew the multitude of candles. Despite the dark and cold, Eskel had no trouble threading his needle with a waxed string. “I like how nimble you are with your fingers,” Maya told him often, always with a suggestive smirk. He smiled at the irony of the situation: his 'nimble fingers' threading a needle.

The foot steps--or stomps--were getting closer now. Eskel punctured the first hole in the scrap leather and held it to the saddle leather firmly with his thumb and forefinger. He shoved the large, iron needle through the two leather layers and then pulled it out the other side. Before he could start the second hole, his visitor had arrived.

“I cannot believe Lambert! I should have him spar with me and see what it's like to pick on someone who knows how to handle a sword! Have you seen how he treats her?”

Eskel creased his brow and tried to stay calm. He shoved the needle into the second hole. He new precisely as to what treatment she was referring to and to whom it regarded.

“Today wasn't the first time. I helped her bathe last night. Her body is black and blue,” she informed him. “I'm gonna do something. I'm going to talk to him as soon as they are done today.”

Ciri looked at him hoping for some inkling of support. He continued fiddling with his needle and thread. Ciri huffed, demanding he respond. He avoided her eyes until he couldn't take it any longer, even though he really preferred not to get involved.

“I'd be lying if I'd said I hadn't seen how he treats her. And as much of this nasty world I have seen, it turns my stomach to see him be so hard on her. The other day she wanted to read a book. So he made her do push ups on some chairs with candles underneath her belly with his feet resting on her back.”

Eskel was quiet for a moment and examined his work. He smoothed the unsewn side of the flap over the hole, feeling the contrast between the rough scrap and the smooth oiled saddle leather.

"So? Are you going to help me or not?" 

"Let's talk to him, though it might go better if I start.”

***

Lambert scooped the last of the poop out of the stall where Eskel's black stallion was spending his winter. Though normally a rather feisty horse, he was calm enough to stay in the same barn with the others considering the mares didn't go into heat during the cold season. Lucky for him too, since the the body heat of three other horses kept the lodgings bearable.

Lambert nudged the large equine on the butt a few times getting him to move his hind end out from in front of the entrance. He raked the remaining bedding where the horse had been standing to an even surface, then tossed a pile of straw onto the now clean ground. As he latched the gate to the stall, he heard two sets of foot steps crunching through the snow. The wicket gait flung open letting in a gust of cold as Ciri and Eskel charged in.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, esteemed colleagues?” Lambert asked condescendingly. He had a hunch what this was about.

Ciri had planned to be calm and collected. She had planned to let Eskel start, but Lambert's tone just pricked the right spot. She clenched her right fist and back handed him across the jaw. Eskel watched in shock, but continued standing there stoically. Lambert fell back, but made no move to retaliate. It came as a shock to him how fast she was. He wiped off a small drop of blood accumulating on his lower lip.

“Is this some sick way of getting back at the world? Is this some way of justifying what happened to you by treating someone the way you were? Huh? I thought for once you were trying to be nice by volunteering to teach her how to fight. I thought maybe you were actually starting to warm up to her. Everyone knows what you thought of her when we first picked her up” Ciri screamed.

Lambert looked at her with a quaint smile. He turned to Eskel.

“And you? What do you think dear old friend?”

“Well, I didn't really wanna get involved. But you are going really hard on her,” replied Eskel.

Lambert nodded and gave an amused snort. He looked Eskel straight in the eye.

“What do you see when you look at her? Does she remind you of Maya? Your sweet, little, innocent Maya? I bet those big doe eyes and pointy ears make you think of sugar and spice and everything nice. But you know what the big difference between the two of them is? Your sweet red-headed vampire with pointy ears is a killer...a natural, vicious, brutal killer. That's not to say she goes around killing, but when she is backed into a corner she can kill faster than you can say 'duvvelsheyss'. And Iespeth? She is no killer. All she is is a sweet elf with big doe eyes and pointy ears. And when this hell-of-a-world comes for her, she needs to be ready to fight back. Because it will come for her.”

Eskel was silent. Lambert turned to Ciri and continued.

“And you? I know you. I know what you've been through. You don't want anyone going through the misery you went through, much less someone you care for. Well, you are not doing her any favors by pretending that that shit doesn't exist. You're either lying to yourself or you're stupid and we both know that stupid people don't last long around here so cut the crap. 

Now I am doing you a solid. And it's not because I owe you something, but because, believe it or not, I actually do care. When your little she-elf comes to that dinner table she looks at you in admiration, in trust. I'd go as far to say she loves you like a sister. And me? She looks at me like a cockwad that makes her do push ups and beats her with a wooden stick. I play my role so that you don't have to and she still gets the training she needs.”

Both Eskel and Ciri had sobering looks on their faces.

_He is right._

Ciri was too proud to apologize. Eskel rubbed his face roughly with his callused hand and whispered “shit” into his palm.

“I assume this means you'll leave me to my business and not interfere?” Lambert asked.

The two reluctantly nodded their heads.

“Good. Now I wonder what you two asses made for dinner. Teaching really works up an appetite!” he said on his way out of the barn.

_The cruel tutelage of Lambert_


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to change how I post warnings for sensitive material for those who prefer to be surprised. I will post them as a foot note so those who would like a warning can scroll down to the bottom and see what kind of content they are getting into.
> 
> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

Iespeth had risen earlier than normal that morning. She rarely had time to read in the evening due to Lambert's demanding schedule. The day prior had been a particularly taxing day of training and she wanted to escape into a book for just an hour before the 'fun' of the day began. The witcher had planned to take her hunting and although she looked forward to it as something different from getting beat up with a wooden sword, she was skeptical about anything that Lambert did with her.

The book she was reading she had found stashed away under a pile of documents that the fancy lady sorceress had strewn across one of the large oak tables near the lab. “Moribundia: The Vampire's Last Likeness,” it was called. She had figured it might be useful in learning more about Maya, the vampire who had taught her how to read and write. She was sorely mistaken.

_Edward removed Isabella's silken shawl from her soft, delicate shoulders. She stood there, wishing, yearning to beg for his touch, but her shy modesty overtook her and she waited trying to look patient. He grazed her barren decollete with the tips of his cold fingers sending a tantalizing shiver throughout her seething body._

Iespeth found herself feeling warmer and contemplated moving away from the large fire place. There was something pleasant, however, about the warmth that was slowly moving through her. She continued to read.

_Isabella couldn't wait anymore and removed the sleeves of her crimson, satin gown. It promptly fell off her body like a waterfall escaping a cliff. Her nipples were erect and grabbed Edward's attention. He knew making love to her would be dangerous, but her alluring body made it impossible to resist the naked beauty in front of him; the woman he loved. He reached out and skillfully pinched her beckoning nipples with his thumb and forefinger. He hesitated when he felt her pulse as he squeezed her pink, swollen nubs. He could almost smell her blood flowing so close to the surface of her skin and his mouth watered. Isabella let out a voluptuous moan hoping he would continue. He reluctantly obliged._

Her blood was flowing now. She realized that was the source of the heat. She felt her cheeks flush with anticipation about what would happen next and read further.

_Edward kissed her small, plump breasts with moist vigor. Isabella sucked in air, jutting out her bosom to meet his mouth. She yearned for his lips to engulf the entirety of her areolas. He alternated fondling her breast with his masculine hands and massaging them with his lips. His manhood was more than ready and threatened to burst out out of his pants._

_He placed his sweet Isabella onto the bed, trying with all his might to be gentle. He climbed on top of her and resumed his foreplay. She wanted him to navigate further down, but was too timid to tell him. It seemed, though, as if he read her thoughts and began a slow winding trail south across her stomach. He stopped at her belly button and steadied himself. 'What am doing? This is dangerous. I could hurt her,' he thought. But he knew how important this was to her and he couldn't let her down._

Iespeth noticed a peculiar feeling between her legs. Her muscles there were swelling and it felt as though it would be nice to have something between them. She noticed a moisture developing at her entrance and was worried that it had gone through her pants. She checked with her hand to see if the moisture had reached the outside of her breaches. It had not. She breathed deeply to try and slow her heart rate and read on.

_He looked down and saw her cleanly kept muff undulating with every breath she took. Isabella was sure she couldn't take anymore anticipation. His touch nearly brought her over the edge. Edward had finally freed himself from his pants and confronted his mate with his throbbing erection. Her wet pussy ached for his love. He positioned the head of his manhood at her opening and thrust forcefully._

She wanted to continue, wanted to know how the scene ended, but was interrupted by Lambert. She smacked the book close and held it to her side to prevent him from seeing the cover. She felt embarrassed. He had told her once that those things were done in private and although she wasn't doing the act, it might be considered inappropriate to even read about it out in the open.

She expected him to tease or berate her as he did about so many things. She felt the worry manifest in the skin of her face. She braced herself for his onslaught, but it never came. Lambert just looked at the book and smiled.

He often gave his lovely mage grief for liking such trashy novels, but she was experienced in the ways of sexual arts. So bold she was that once she had him read a rather erotic scene from one of her books out loud to her as foreplay before they acted it out. The woman exuberated sexual confidence. But Iespeth was just a young woman exploring the early stages of her sexuality. He knew the best way to dull such a beautiful blossoming was to shame it, which was the last thing he wanted. 

“Just put it back when you are done. That's Keira's favorite,” he said stifling a giggle.. “Now go get your stuff together. It is gonna be a long day.”

The days had been becoming gradually longer and the longest night of the year had passed three fortnights ago. The morning was overcast and a mild fog crept through the forest. Iespeth liked being enveloped by the masking mist and felt comforted by its scent. She once dreaded it when she would run the Killer alone, fearing what she couldn't see until realizing that those who could be watching were just as blind.

The snow on the ground had become mixed layers of ice and soft powder. Iespeth followed Lambert, careful to tread lightly. In her left hand she held a simple elm recurve bow and with her right steadied a quiver hung on the side of her waist filled with maple arrows which she had fletched herself. Lambert had brought both his steel and silver sword, which as usual he wore on his back. He carried a small leather pack with modest provisions for the day.

The two wound their way through the thick undergrowth of the forest. Lambert had said it would be unlikely that they might find any game, but their best chance would be any small clearing surrounded by the protection of the trees. When they came upon one such clearing Lambert held up his fist, motioning his student to halt.

He looked around with his cat eyes and sniffed the air. He continued on into the clearing and knelt down next to a small hole where the snow had been disturbed. Iespeth stood quietly at the edge of the clearing waiting for instruction. She listened for a moment, hearing the faint sing-song of a few larks that had returned from their winter vacation. Lambert beckoned her to come see what he was inspecting. She knelt next to him and looked down.

There was a bare area of loose and upturned dirt. Iespeth wondered about the significance of it until Lambert slowly dug out a bit more snow from the hole. He revealed a bunch of small green rosettes. It was obvious that something had freed the plants from their frozen prison and devoured its prize.

“This plant here is called valerianella. Also known as rapunzel,” he whispered. Lambert picked off a few of the buds and handed them to Iespeth. “You can eat it. These buds can mean life and death in winter if you are starving.”

Iespeth placed the leafy greens in her mouth and savored the treat. It had a rather bland flavor and an unspectacular consistency but eating something that wasn't stale bread, nearly unchewable blood sausage or strongly scented cheese she considered a delicacy. She picked a few more and shoved them into her mouth. When she went for a third helping Lambert placed his hand on her shoulder forbidding her to harvest another helping.

“That's not why we are here. You notice the tracks leading to and leaving the hole?” Lambert asked quietly. Iespeth looked around and saw footprints in the snow although she couldn't tell from which direction the creature came and where it went to.

“It's a deer. It must have heard or smelled us and run off otherwise it would have eaten more. We best track it and make sure to stay down wind of it.”

Iespeth wasn't sure of what 'wind' he spoke of as the foggy air was as still as stone.

Lambert showed his pupil how to tell which way the tracks were leading by the shape. She learned to judge the gait and stride by the distance and position of the marks the animal left in the snow. The deer had come with a cautious walk and left in a bounding hurry. 

The two walked carefully out of the clearing back into the maze of branches and trunks. Lambert pointed out where beast had broken through trying to escape in a rush. They continued slowly on the trail, taking note of the slowed pace of the beast. Hours later, Lambert paused and looked around. He pulled off a glove and licked his finger, determining that the slightest of breezes was coming from the north. They veered off the trail and took a different route so as to approach the beast from the south.

Lambert knew these woods. He knew there was a large clearing half a klick to the north of where they were. That's where they would find their prey. 

Iespeth followed Lambert obediently. She noticed the birds sounded different. Their songs were the same, but there was something peculiar about how the tune reached her ear. She took note of it.

Lambert slowed down a few paces before reaching the small meadow. He looked back at Iespeth and pointed at her quiver. 

_The birds 'told' me where the clearing was._ She pulled an arrow as gently and silently as possible from its leather vessel. She stepped lightly in front of Lambert careful to avoid any patch of ice that might crack under her weight. Lambert, pointed into the fog, but she couldn't see anything. Perhaps he could see something with his cat eyes that she couldn't. She squinted her eyes, looking for the shape of a deer. She refocused and noticed the fog seemed to drift differently about twenty paces from where they were standing. _It's there._ She scrupulously lifted her arrow over her bow with her right hand and silently notched her arrow letting it sit on the rest. The longer she watched the small area of disturbed fog the more a figure seemed to form. A dark shape slowly became clear. She saw it frequently raise and lower its head to feast on its delicacy. Lambert watched his pupil carefully and suspiciously wondered if she would make a successful shot. 

_Don't get nervous. Don't fear his glare. The deer is bigger than the targets you practiced on. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in._

The elf drew the string and arrow together placing the tip at her cheek.

_In. Out. In. Out!_

She release the arrow with a voluble whir. The sound the beast made when her arrow hit its mark was something she would never forget. The creature shot up into the air while making a shrill yet guttural sound and landed back first on the ground. The birds where screeching chaotically. Within mere moments the beast leaped up and darted off into the woods.

Lambert made a hissing sound and took off towards the opening. Iespeth followed.

They reached the spot where the deer had been shot. The area looked as if a dance between two large blokes had taken place, but there was no blood to be seen.

Iespeth was afraid. She was scared Lambert would punish her with harsh exercises for missing.

“I tried Lambert, but I couldn't see it. I'll find the arrow. I promise.”

Lambert let out a deep breath and had a small look of torment on his face. He knew she was scared of him.

“C'mon,” was all he said.

He took off at a sprint after the tracks into the woods with Iespeth at his heels. He paused a short ways in and looked down. There it was, a small squirt of blood soaked into the snow.

“It's your kill. You track it,” Lambert said.

Iespeth took off at a quick pace following the tracks and occasional spray of blood. The pace of the animal had clearly slowed down and the sprays had now become pools of crimson. Iespeth heard what sounded like a vomitous groan off in the distance.

The huntress finally reached her down prey. It was a young buck with small furry horns. The animal was lying on the ground attempting to struggle to its feet. Lambert pulled out a rather large dagger and shoved it into Iespeths cold, bare hand. He had told her where to kill various creatures the fastest with the help of some rather detailed drawings during the past week. But seeing this animal on the ground seemingly plea for mercy gave her pause. She stood there frozen, unable to act.

“Iespeth! The longer you hesitate the longer it suffers. Put it out of its misery.”

She stood there, her throat tight and her brow constricted. She wasn't sure what was holding her back. The cries turned to wheezes and she knew that blood was filling its lungs. It produced one last cry of agony. _End its pain!_

She threw her bow down and leapt forward with resolve, being sure to avoid the beasts sharp hooves. She shoved the knife into its throat near the vertebrae with purpose and then sliced outward severing the carotid artery. She placed her hand on the buck and felt as its life left its body.

The breathing slowed. The heart stopped. It was silent. She felt as more and more cells began to degrade. The beast's life force, having been bound by the laws of nature to its physical body, was now gone. She contemplated this feeling that was so foreign to her. _So final. So absolute._

The world around the clearing seemed either oblivious or not to care about the death that permeated the air. The birds continued their usual, casual chirping. Lambert, although now bored, let his student process what she had just gone through. Unless absolutely starving, the first kill was never easy. He honestly didn't expect to see any prey today and was not prepared to impart any words of wisdom. He knelt down beside her hoping she was ready for what came next.

He had her use the same dagger to dress the buck. He stood over her telling her what to do, yet made sure she did every step herself. 

Iespeth began under the tail and worked her way up the stomach until she reached the neck. Once she opened the chest cavity she yanked the innards out in one sloppy swoop. She turned the carcass onto its open belly and let the blood flow out. “If we do this here it's less weight to drag back,” Lambert told her. 

Iespeth knelt back down to bind the deer with rope Lambert had brought with. The beast was heavy and the work was tiring. Lambert walked around the clearing figuring the elf could accomplish this step on her own. 

Despite the cold, a few beads of sweat built on Iespeth's forehead. She carefully wiped her brow with her upper arm as her hands were covered in blood. She took a moment before she began again, until she noticed something strange. _Silence._

She looked around for Lambert who was standing at the far end of the clearing. Considering how the last few weeks had been, she would have been glad he was so far away. But she wished he was standing over her scowling like he so often was. The birds began screeching yet they remained in the trees. For a moment she thought she heard a deep yell and looked over to see Lambert waving his arms.

When the thing landed it sounded like thunder rumbling from the earth. Iespeth leaped back almost losing her footing.

Like the beast painted in the murals along the stone walls in the great hall at Kaer Morhen, it had large, expansive wings with two razor sharp talons coming out of the patagium. Its tail was long and its green scales shimmered. The creature distinctly cuckawed causing its leathery comb, from which a sharp beak protruded, to seesaw back and forth. A cockatrice it was called.

“TO THE TREES!” Lambert screamed. He was scared and hoped she heard him. All he had done to prepare Iespeth and she might get eaten by a giant chicken. She wasn't ready for monsters. Not yet. Not his Iespeth.

Iespeth ran into the woods first leaping over a low branch and then rolling under a large bunch of intertwined brush. The cockatrice lurched after her breaking limbs off the trees as it bumbled through. She wished her feet would keep up with the beat her heart was making. The big scaled bird eventually gave up chase probably assuming the obstacle wasn't worth it. It turned back now towards the witcher who had almost made it to the other side of the clearing.

“Iespeth? Stay in woods until I tell you! Do you hear me?!?! STAY PUT!” the witcher commanded.

The beast lunged at him, snapping its sharp beak repeatedly, hoping to snag an extremity. Lambert sprung to the side. He cursed himself for not having his sword which was lying next to Iespeth's bow by the deer carcass. He concentrated to get in the right emotional state to cast Igni. He hoped the fire would scare the giant bird-lizard away, but he was sorely mistaken. Despite the melting feathers and singeing flesh, it attacked again in fury. It was all Lambert could do to dodge.

Iespeth, having realized the beast was no longer chasing her, emerged from her hiding spot. She knew Lambert had told her to stay put, but she wanted to see him fight the monster.

He ducked as the thing launched a powerful wing towards his head. It pivoted quickly using its tail to push off. When it opened its wings and hopped up in the air he was ready for the gashing talons it sent his way.

Iespeth realized it was all the witcher could do to avoid the creature and without his sword he had no chance of ending this fight. But there was no way to get to him without getting close to the beast. If she could at least get it away from him…

She picked up her bow and notched her arrow. When aiming for the deer she was timid about the shot and was scared of Lambert in the case that she missed. This time, she was scared for him. As often as she cursed him secretly in her mind for his savage pedagogy, she didn't want him harmed. She aimed and after easing out the air in her chest, released.

Lambert noticed the beast's hesitation mid attack. He saw the arrow sticking out of its right wing. It turned towards her when it was struck with another arrow. Lambert saw the feathered shaft sticking out of the beast's left thigh as it turned back towards Iespeth. 

“GET BACK IN THE WOODS. GODDAMMIT IESPETH I TOLD YOU TO STAY THERE!” Lambert roared.

She ignored Lambert and continued releasing another two arrows until the cockatrice was near. As quick as a sprite she darted back into the trees before falling prey to the sharp talons. This time though, it didn't give up the chase. Iespeth could hear the beast making its way through the undergrowth. Every time the thing snapped a larger branch it cuckawed in anger. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

The she-elf had given the witcher just enough time to get to his silver sword. He unsheathed his weapon and ran after the bird. With its back towards him, attacking would be easy. He ran up, ready to slice off its tail at the base. As he raised his sharp blade to strike, the beast wheeled around and slammed him into a tree with its powerful wing. He couldn't breathe and gasped for air. He could feel the back of his head begin to swell where it met the hard aspen trunk. His eyes were blurred and all he knew was that his hands where no longer around the hilt of his silver sword. He focused his senses and felt the bird getting closer one stomp at a time. He couldn't stand, couldn't roll.

The cockatrice cautiously approached, meandering towards him, spreading its wings and posturing itself to look bigger. All Lambert could see was the blurry figure coming closer and closer. He could hear the beast suck in air and knew it was withdrawing its head to peck. One hit of the sharp beak and he would be dead. _No witcher has ever died in his bed._ He wasn't ready, but who is ever prepared to die?

He heard the head accelerate towards him, the wind whizzing past the cockatrice's neck feathers and he waited for tip to pierce his body. _It will be over quickly._ Plop. He felt the ground tremble underneath his body. Is this what death feels like? The last thing he remembered was something cold, round and smooth on his lips.

Iespeth let go of the silver sword sticking through the monster's skull. She was proud of herself for not only getting the sword through the beast's eye socket but also having it come out the other side. The thing must have died quickly. She noticed Lambert looking unfocused off into the distance. When he didn't answer her questions she pulled his head forward and felt the lump on the back of his head. _He must have hit it hard._ She knew the brain was an important organ and in normal circumstances would have no idea what to do. But this was a witcher. She quickly searched the leather pouch that Lambert had brought with them and tossed out the sausages and rolls onto the snowy ground. The bottle she was looking for was in a side pocket. _Swallow: a potion brewed by witchers to accelerate tissue growth and suppress bleeding._

She held up the small bottle containing a thick, bright orange liquid closed by a cork and sealed with wax. It came off easily enough. She picked up Lambert and held his head gently against her chest. She brought the bottle to his lips and poured. _Let's see what you witchers are capable of?_

His veins seemed to pop out of his face and his nerves began to slightly twitch. She kept him propped on her lap in an effort to keep him warm. She looked down at his face. She had been so scared of him for so long, but now she saw him as such a vulnerable creature. Like the deer she had shot, this terrifying man could also be the prey.

It didn't take long for him to open his eyes. He felt the rush of the substance permeating his veins. He was relieved to see a pair of emerald-eyes looking down at him telling him without words that she was safe. He sat up and looked at the lifeless remains of his would-be killer.

“What happened?”

“Well, when you passed out I slayed the chicken. When you didn't wake up I thought the worst and gave you some Swallow.”

Lambert reached around and felt the back of his head. The swelling was nearly gone.

“You didn't think Maya just had me reading romance novels did you?”

Lambert smiled with a snort while rubbing the back of his head. He walked over to the dead cockatrice.

“Why did it attack us?” she asked, moving to his side.

Lambert prodded around the beast's chest.

“You see here? Feel it. That's stringy muscle and no fat. It was starving. I was surprised myself to see a cockatrice this time of year. Maybe it didn't eat enough to hibernate through the winter. It was probably drawn to your deer and when it saw us decided to go for a little something extra.”

“Do I have to drag that thing back as well?” Iespeth asked half-seriously.

Lambert laughed and told her the deer would suffice.

They reached the Kaer Morhen an hour after sunset. Lambert stopped Iespeth before she opened the door to the great hall.

“You did good Iespeth. You did real good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sensitive content: Purposefully sappy sexual content. Graphic death of an animal.
> 
> "Moribundia: The Vampire's Last Likeness" was an easter egg book in W3 joking about the Twilight Saga. I took the liberty of expanding a bit on it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

“As far as we elves are concerned, Ithlinne is more explicit: only those who follow the Swallow will survive. The Swallow, the symbol of spring, is the saviour, the one who will open the Forbidden Door, signal the way of salvation. And make possible the world's rebirth. The Swallow, the Child of the Elder Blood.”

-Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha, Aen Saevherne in conversation with Geralt of Rivia, Witcher in the ruins of Tir ná Béa Arainne 

 

“When can I expect the package?”

“I sent some of my most discreet agents to deliver it to the usual place.”

“Good. The bottle I have is running low and the patient should continue with their regular dosage. As soon as we have the delivery, word will be sent. Too bad you can't just give me the formula. It would make this so much easier,” jested the Nilfgaardian sorceress. She reached to her left and adjusted a crystal of her megascope in order to sharpen the picture. 

The Queen of the Valley of the Flowers concealed a scoff at the suggestion that this relatively young human sorceress could brew such a concoction of extreme difficulty. It often disgusted her how prideful even Nilfgaardian mages, who were known for their modesty in comparison to those of the North, could be. But she wouldn't show it. The elves of Dol Blathanna were at the merciful will or whimsy of the Nilfgaardian Empire and as powerful as the elven sorceress was, she had to behave thusly. _I would rather be burnt by lime than share elven magic with you._

“Unfortunately, this isn't a cake recipe that can be scribbled on a piece of paper and simply carried out by following instructions. I have spent over 75 years perfecting it,” Francesca Findabair replied diplomatically. The potion in question was a rather complicated serum infused with dimeritium carefully concealed. A more favorable trade deal, as was decided by Emperor Voorhis, was now contingent on the elven queen's cooperation in such delicate matters. Once, the Daisy of the Valley might have felt bad ensuring a fellow sorceress experienced frequent bouts of paranoia and a mild disruption in her magical abilities, but now it was her duty to her people to protect them. The formation of the Lodge of Sorceresses -now Sorcery- was to safeguard and advance all things magical. A goal that Francesca had once aspired to. Now she only cared about the elves and to the hells with the dh'oine.

“Of course I understand that. Please believe my sincerity, Francesca, when I say there is much magic that human mages are far from being able to perform. And as a courtesy to you and out of respect to the elves, I'd like to give you a bit of information. There is a growing degree of resentment outside of the capital against the elves. Some say that they are to blame for Nilfgaard having lost the war, because of your lack of participation.” 

“And are you of this opinion, Cynthia?”

“I am merely relaying the current sentiment among the more...plebeian members of Nilfgaardian society. Perhaps it is something that will pass. Perhaps not. If it continues to grow, I suspect there is little the Emperor will or can do.”

“I shall take it under consideration. Now if that concludes all matters?” asked the elven queen.

The Nilfgaardian sorceress bowed her head.

“Va fail, Cynthia.”

“Goodbye Francesca.”

The queen removed the crystals from her megascope and walked over to a cherry-wood cabinet. While returning the crystals to their places in a metal stand, she looked over to where Ida Emean aep Sivney was standing but couldn't be seen, shrouded by an invisibility spell. The vermilion-red-headed sorceress materialized once the crystals of the megascope were safely in their places.

She could see the tension in the queen's brow. That Cynthia was now a deciding member in the Lodge of Sorcery made Francesca's betrayal all the more dangerous. And what was dangerous to the queen was dangerous to all the elves on the Continent.

“Do you think her a true threat, Enid?” the elven sage inquired, looking downward exposing her orange-painted eyelids. Among the elves, the queen's peers used her proper name: Enid an Gleanna.

“That is what troubles me the most. She has successfully fooled Phillipa before. Our only advantage is that she seems truly loyal to Nilfgaard and to nothing or no one else. Thank you for coming, Ida.” The queen smoothed back a stray lock of gold slipping it into one of the intricate winds of long hair beautifully piled on her head.

“Dol Blathanna is my home now. As it is for the rest of the Free Elves of the Blue Mountains. The humans saw to that.”

The two elven beauties walked through the palace from Enid's private chambers to the council room. In typical elven style, the construction was mostly open to the outside and welcomed the natural world in. The night was calm and pleasantly cool. Despite it being on the tail ends of winter, Dol Blathanna was rarely cold. The coo of a whip-poor-will could be heard somewhere off in the palace's central garden singing its evening tune paced nicely with the croak of a cricket. Occasionally, a short guest of wind fluttered the leaves of the roses, causing them to flicker in the moonlight. Enid and Ida strolled past a pond with a small school of old koi shadowed by a willow tree. _To a human you must seem ancient; to us you fish are but children._

“I saw it. Tor Gvalch'ca. I saw the Gate of the Falcon. Again I was there,” Ida disclosed to the queen as they walked arm in arm through an ivied colonnade, her voice smooth as polished porcelain.

“And I? There again?” inquired the royal sorceress.

The elven sage gave a single, succinct nod confirming the reoccurrences of her dream. The two ladies strode slowly, both dresses tickling the ground with their delicate fabric.

“What can you gather from it?”

Ida pondered for a moment putting a slender finger to her peach-painted lips.

“The seed has burst into flames. The Hen Ichaer has opened the Forbidden Door and we did not follow. And yet in the dream I believe we were standing around that flame.”

“Are we meant to perish?”

“I do not believe it to be so, but that is an enigma that has yet to be unraveled. That is a question to be answered by destiny.”

“But without knowing destiny we cannot embrace it.”

“Yes, Enid. Perhaps the flame is the Swallow. Yet I cannot be sure. I shall contemplate this matter further. Now we have more pressing concerns.”

They came upon the council chambers. It was a small room lined with marble, suited for small intimate discussions between the ruling establishment as opposed to the large halls most human kings boasted, serving as echo chambers where politicians and bureaucrats shouted around each other. Filavandrel, an elf of snow white hair and coal-black eyes, was waiting patiently at the round table. He slowly sipped from his cup of crystal and with every tip of the glass the bubbles from the elderberry wine could be seen racing to the surface. The two women poured themselves a drink and took their seats.

They began with more tedious subjects such as food supplies and improvement of the roads. They contemplated decreasing the tariffs on ore from Mahakam so as to have more to supply their smiths. Elven bows and swords had become in high demand as Dol Blathanna became the primary source of the valuable goods. They finished up agreeing that an increase in patrols to the Northern border with Aedirn would be prudent. Enid rose to leave, while Filavandrel and Ida stayed seated. The sage knew there was a topic of grave importance that Filavandrel wished to discuss and therefore remained in her chair.

“My queen. There is one last matter.”

The queen sat back down. Filvandrel poured his and the queen's glass full of wine. When offered, Ida declined with a polite gesture of the hand.

“As you are aware, we have had only two births in the last three years. Our population has risen quite a bit due to the addition of our Blue Mountain brethren, but...”

He looked at Ida and saw sorrow in her face. The white-haired elf took a sip and continued.

“All those who came are of our years and with them no children will follow. Our youth are scattered across the Continent and they need to come home.”

Ida listened to his words and knew that wasn't all. _Someone is here. He has brought someone he thinks can help._

“Iorveth. Please come in.”

Enid had never forgotten his face despite him now missing an eye. He was once so beautiful, but the d'hoine had taken that from him. A look of regret and shock sprawled across her face. For all intents and purposes she had betrayed him. She remembered the day she disavowed him and his fellow Scoia'tael commanders and sent them to be hung by the Northern Kings after an agreement was reached with Nilfgaard. She had done it for peace, for her people. For their people. But that never lessened her guilt.

Ida, on the other hand, looked at the elf before her in amazement. She had heard his name many times and now had a face to go with it. It wasn't, however, his deeds or stories that amazed her. Nor his militaristic devotion to the freedom of the elves. This man had another significance to the elven sage. _Vine tattoos up the neck. Right eye missing. Left the color of a fresh meadow in spring. Prominent nose. I saw him. In my dream._

“Ceadmil Enid,” he said bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is taken from _The Tower of Swallows._


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

It was dank and dark. A constant drip of liquid could be heard somewhere off in the dungeon. The sound permeated the prison. Whether it was from a faulty roof many stories above or run off urine from the prisoners' cells was uncertain. The smell of excrement was indeed pungent; so much so that those without sargek, a balm with oddly addictive properties smeared underneath the nose, one was sure to vomit. Fully pledged witch hunters often withheld this information from recruits and cadets put on dungeon duty. It was their favorite game betting on which ones would lose their breakfast first.

The witcher awoke hung from all four limbs by chains belly down. He couldn't tell what time of day it was and wasn't sure how long he'd been there. He tried remembering the details of the fight. Three of the bastards went down as fast as a hummingbird's heartbeat. The fourth, a massive bloke with shoulders as wide as a bull's horns, had given him more trouble. He remembered giving the man a deep slash to his cheek, which was when everything became fuzzy. His last memory before winding up here was of the cold sludge of the Novigrad streets cooling his face.

He contracted his cat eyes examining his shadowed surroundings. Apart from a steel door, which was the only entrance, he was surrounded on all sides by large ashlar stones once carefully placed by a mason long ago. To the left of the entrance was a wrack probably used for torture tools of various sorts, yet it was empty. He watched as rats scurried to and fro under his belly perhaps hoping for something to eat. The witcher twisted and and jerked, hoping to loosen the chains from the ceiling to no avail. He inhaled once, trying to filter out the stench and smell anything that could be informational. Upon smelling the absence of iron, he concluded that the chains which suspended him were of dimeritium. He tried to go into a meditative state, hoping to retain his strength on the off chance his captors gave him a opportunity to escape.

Hours must have passed and the sounds of the dungeon became familiar to him. Occasionally the screams of some pour soul reached his ears, but he had no room for sympathy. His only concern was to escape and get to his wife and children who he was to meet at the Novigrad docks. _I hope they made it and got on the ship, he thought._

Eventually he picked up on the sound of rattling keys and foot steps. The glow of torches and the shadows they cast could be seen through the bars of the door to his cell. It opened with a creak as three men traipsed in. The one with the gash in his face he was already acquainted with. The man's wound was covered with a thick cotton cloth and held to his face with leather straps. When he turned his head, the collar of his leather coat sheltered it from view. The witcher could smell the blood and whatever peculiar ointment they had used to treat it. Another was short and stringy with a pointed chin and an upturned nose. He wore a linen jerkin with alternating colors of dull black and brown and leered sinisterly at the witcher. The third however, noting by the behavior of the other two, was clearly in charge. He was clean and well dressed in a fine leather trench coat with an insignia of an eagle sewn onto the right breast. His loose chestnut curls were pulled back behind his shoulders with a silk ribbon and his big blue eyes looked at the strung up witcher with a sort of calm.

“Greetings witcher,” the man began with an almost sincere air of formality. He waited for a few seconds, prepared to give the mutant hanging in front of him a chance to respond. When the witcher said nothing, he continued.

“I'd hoped for this to be a pleasant conversation, but if you are so inclined to rudeness we can be a bit more direct with each other. You have already met Beags I assume?” He gestured to the large man with the gash. Beags stepped forward and kneed the prisoner in the stomach.

The witcher groaned and after regaining his breath decided to speak. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Ah, so we are to have a pleasant conversation after all.” Breags stepped back and the man continued. “As to who I am? A simple servant. A child of the Eternal Fires spreading its light wherever I can so as to protect my fellow man from the evils of darkness. But you may call me Maldolus,” the man said with conviction.

“Well, Dolus. May I call you Dolus?” asked the witcher, a hoarseness in his voice. The man courteously nodded. “If this is to be a pleasant conversation, might I ask for some tea and crumpets,” replied the witcher, attempting to hide his pain. Maldolus smiled with fake amusement.

“Strinell, would you be so kind as to bring me a chair?”

The stringy man left without making a sound and returned with a small stool. Maldolus pinched the cloth on his thighs and pulled up his trousers placidly upwards before taking a seat. He looked at the witcher and contemplated, tapping his lips with his fingers. The witcher noticed three equally spaced apart freckles on the left side of his chin that could have made a perfect triangle if connected.

“You were going to tell me what you want?” the witcher finally replied.

“My dear, I'm still not sure you understand what polite conversation is. I have given you my name. Now you must give me yours.”

“If I had to guess, I'd say you know it already.”

Maldolus chuckled. “Right you are. But why don't you tell me all the same.”

“Jad. Jad Karadin.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Karadin. Now on to what we want. You're probably wondering how we got you here with such ease.”

“Ease? I killed three of you and disfigured that one,” he said, trying to point with his face towards Beags.

“Be that as it may, I have heard reports of witchers slaying whole companies of trained soldiers. So I'd wager it is fair to say that 'ease' is the proper term.” He pulled out a small dart from a leather pouch hanging from his waist and held the tip under the nose of the witcher. Jad Karadin inhaled.

“It smells like manticore venom.”

“So the rumors of a witcher's sense of smell are true too. We humans don't smell it in the slightest. It's rather difficult to brew you must know. Radovid had his personal alchemists working on it for the past five years.

“I thought alchemy was outlawed in The Northern Kingdom.”

“Right you are. Except of course under the utmost stringent supervision of the Eternal Flame it is permitted. Some evil things can be used for good if done under the light. Others must be cleansed by flame. We mustn't allow such arts be used for evil deeds.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jad asked. Maldolus smiled and continued.

“What I find most fascinating about this little concoction is that it takes a single dart coated in this substance to take down a human, a sorceress,” he began to chuckle, “or even an elf. But you, Mr. Karadin were our first witcher specimen. And I must say I am impressed. Seven darts later and you were still swinging your sword. Albeit groggily. After the eleventh we were finally able to carry you here.”

“And yet the question remains. Why am I here?”

“There is a question I need answered. It is my understanding that each witcher is trained at a school. They even receive a medallion representing the school from which they came. There is the school of the Viper. The school of the Bear. School of the Griffon and so on. If I were to guess,” he said pointing a finger at Jad, “you come from the school of the Cat.”

“How would you know that?”

“Because I have been to that school. I wonder if you were aware that they kept excellent records on every witcher that did and did not survive the Trial of the Grasses, as I have come to learn it is called?”

Jad hid a frown, trying to show he was unaffected.

“Now my question. I know there is another school in the North. In Kaedwen to be exact. But where precisely?”

“Why do you think I would know? I'm not from there.”

“True. But perhaps you knew someone from there. Or maybe knew someone who knew someone. I can't imagine witchers to be too severely tight-lipped after a bottle of vodka.”

Jad Karadin frowned and thought for a long time. “And let's say I did know. Why would I tell you?”

Maldolus put his finger back on his lips and tapped. He looked over to Beags and gave him a nod. Beags left the cell.

“Curious. If I recall correctly I heard somewhere that you had a family. I never knew a witcher to have family. Oh and earlier, the reason I told you so much is because you won't be leaving this place alive. But she might.”

Breags entered the room with a woman shivering in fear. She had a bruise on her right cheek shimmering from the tears rolling down her face.

“Laetitia!”

The woman cried out to the witcher and struggled with her detainer who roughly wrestled her under control.

“Now now my dear, if your dear husband tells me what I want to know you might leave this place unharmed. Witcher, tell me where Kaer Morhen is.”

“You promise me you won't harm her?”

“On my honor as a priest of the Eternal Fire, you have my word.”

Jad Karadin nodded and began telling him what he knew. He felt guilty betraying the school of the Wolf after one of them showed him mercy. But he couldn't let anything happen to his family.

“Thank you, Mr. Karadin, for your cooperation.” He got up to leave and as he passed Karadin's wife he quickly drew a dagger and sliced her throat in one fluid movement. Beags let the dying woman drop to the ground while Strinell smirked showing his overlapping teeth.

“I'll kill you you bastard! You told me you wouldn't harm her!” Karadin was writhing aggressively. He continued screaming and cursing. Maldolus knelt down and looked the witcher in the eye.

“I lied.” He got up and slowly made his way to the door. “That vile woman has been tainted with a demon's seed. I could not allow her to live. If its any conciliation to you, the children won't be harmed. I know they aren't yours and I know they are innocent. They won't be punished for the sins of their mother. They'll be given to proper parents of the faith and raised in the light of the Holy Flame.”

Before he exited he turned to Beags and Strinell. “Breags, prepare you men. You have work to do. Strinell, you have a fire to organize.”

 

***

The snow had nearly completely melted around the bases of the Blue Mountains. Here and there sprouts of lungwort and pasqueflowers peeked their way out of the ground, eager to bloom. Despite the lack of precipitation, the ground was saturated with moisture from the melting snow and the thick brown sludge put off an unobliging gleam. Winter was over and spring was here.

Iespeth stood in the mud, shadowed by the Gauntlet, just as she had many times before. She held her wooden sword assuredly and adeptly, eyes sharply focused on her opponent.

The night before had been the last 'hurrah' of the season where all but Iespeth had celebrated the occasion with vigorous enthusiasm--that is, they got hilariously drunk. The she-elf had been enjoying her choice of watered down ale when Lambert, who at that point had had a gallimaufry of various alcoholic beverages and was quit voluble, suggested that she and Eskel have a duel the following morning. “A fucking good idea to celebrate gettin' outta this shit hole,” he had said, slurring his words. Iespeth was thrilled at the thought of testing her newly acquired combat skills against someone other than Lambert and when Eskel raised his mug at the idea, she switched to water for the remainder of the evening.

Eskel lazily circled the emerald eyes which were rapidly scanning for shifts in weight or muscle twitches indicating how or when he might attack. The witcher was certainly hungover, yet by virtue of his accelerated immune system, only had symptoms of fatigue as apposed to Ciri who was gladly holding her head against the cold stone of the castle trying to watch the duel out of the side of her eye. Eskel finally lifted the wooden stick and attacked indifferently and without vigor.

Iespeth blocked his first six lackluster slashes, losing very little ground to the seemingly sluggish Witcher. He purposefully paused for a split second too long, hoping to encourage her into taking the offensive. The elf reacted accordingly. She varied her speed, trying to confuse her opponent as Lambert had taught her. She disengaged towards his left shoulder, attempting to trick him into moving his blade there. He did. She slashed towards the lower right region of his belly and narrowly missed him as he pirouetted her target away. For all the training she had undergone and all the progress she had made in the last four months, she couldn't outdo the experience of a trained fighter much less the instinct and skill of a witcher, hungover or not.

Lambert stood on the side watching intently, arms crossed and fist held tensely over his mouth. He waited for her to congratulate herself as she often did, causing her to lose concentration and get a new bruise. He watched her face, her eyes, her lips looking for the small half smile that sometimes peeked out whenever she almost scored a hit. That smile never came and she continued her onslaught making her teacher secretly proud. He let out a half smile for his student since she had disciplined herself not to.

Eskel, now quite aware of what she was capable of and subsequently more present in the fight, decided to push her a bit. He hastily spun around while she was mid-swing placing his sword behind his back and blocked one of her attacks. Since the strength difference was so immense, he pushed her sword--arm and body attached--into a twirl, repositioning himself so as to take back the offensive.

He challenged her speed increasing the number of his attacks per minute. After she would get mildly flustered he cunningly gave the offensive back to her. This pattern continued back and forth many times. 

Ciri, blood pumping from the spectacle allowing her to ignore the throbbing in her skull, resisted the urge to shout out tips and hints. She gripped the railing harder every time her Iespeth nearly got hit. _Footwork. Left. Left. Right. Left. Keep your balance._ Once Eskel took a rather quick swing towards Iespeth's head. The elf threw her shoulders and head back towards the ground feeling the gust of air from the spurious sword a mere centimeter from her nose. Ciri instinctively sucked in air through her teeth to which a gentle hand on her shoulder from Maya replied. 

Iespeth heard this and twisted away. She was embarrassed and quickly attempted to counter attack. _Ciri is watching. I want to make her proud._

The longer the duel went on, the more flustered Iespeth got. At some point she no longer took the offensive despite Eskel's multiple invitations. Her agitation turned into frustration which transitioned to doubt borderlining on panic. She was losing ground and it was all she could do to defend against the witcher's blows.

Eskel backed her into a corner and prepared to end the duel with a powerful slice. He felt he had given her enough and planned to congratulate her accomplishments once it was over. 

Iespeth held out her sword knowing it would be a hard one. She placed her left hand on the flat edge of her sword and prepared to block. Unfortunately, she messed up the angle and instead of deflecting the hit allowing it to slide down, she let the momentum go perpendicularly into her weapon. The thing snapped, leaving the two halves in either hand and her in the mud.

Eskel lowered his sword to go over and help her, not realizing she hadn't accepted the fight as over. She used both sword halves as daggers and attacked furiously. She got in a few good slashes, which were of course promptly blocked, before Eskel decided to attack until she could no longer defend.

Slash. Block. Jab. Block. Hack. Block.

Through fatigue and anxiety she mispositioned her half-sword, receiving a swat to the thumb. The “blade” fell from her hand. She looked past the witcher into Ciri's concerned face. This was it.

Eskel thought to give her a light swat on the next opening he found until he noticed her doing something with her hand. _Is she trying to cast…Aard?_ To be safe he preemptively cast Quen.

The pressurized gust of air whipped past the shielded witcher spraying mud around him. Even though it was rather weak, the witcher was right to have cast, if only to protect himself from the flying sludge.

The she-elf immediately grinned from ear to ear and made off towards the spectators, forgetting her opponent. Her frustration and fear disappeared. She stepped in front of Ciri proudly.

“I did it! Did you see? I couldn't do it until now, but I did it!”

Lambert had tried teaching her the most rudimentary of signs a week ago. He explained the emotional mindset she needed to be in and the focus necessary to cast. He gripped and molded her hand trying to get the proper tracing and finger movements just right. But she still couldn't cast.

Iespeth flipped the broken sword around holding the flat end to her forearm and placed her hands on her hips. The eyes of her audience, Maya's in particular, grew wide. She felt a warm hand grip her forehead and the rough grain of wood on her throat.

“Gotcha,” Eskel playfully said in her ear. He let go of her forehead and put his sword hand on her shoulder, gently spinning her around so she would face him. He placed his free hand on her cheek and smiled. He would miss her. She wasn't a child but in the last four months her innocence and pleasant outlook on life was somehow invigorating and renewing. And he wasn't the only one who felt that way. She looked back at him, her cheeks red, emerald eyes bright and smiling like a rose in Blathe. He promptly messed up her hair and they all went into the castle to pack.

***

The horses were saddled and ready. Each had a pair of saddle bags filled with various necessities for their respective rider. Eskel had packed a good set of provisions, whereas Maya's was filled with herbs and reaction agents. They decided to make their way down to Toussaint as both had old friends in the region. Keira had both of her and Lambert's horses carrying books and little else. Once they were far enough away she would teleport them to Pont Vanis, the summer capital of Kovir, making food and herbs for potions needless.

Ciri and Iespeth would stay another week or two until the temperature was a bit warmer. Seeing as neither of them had horses they would need more time to make it to the closest village, and Ciri had no desire to get caught sleeping in the rain with such a chill still lingering in the air.

She walked in front, leading Lambert's horse, and talked to Maya and Eskel about where precisely Geralt and Yennefer's vineyard in Toussaint was. The lady sorceress was already in the saddle plodding along behind them. Towards the back Lambert and Iespeth trailed along.

“I have something for you. I usually don't give gifts, but...this is something that will come in handy,” Lambert said unbuckling the strap holding his dagger on his right thigh. He handed blade and its accessories to his student. Her eyes lit up as she held the gift in her hands. The dagger was a bit longer than her forearm and the blade made by gnomes in Mahakam. They had methods to bring elements into the edge of the blade making it incredibly hard while leaving the rest of the metal durable. The result of this was that their swords were highly sought after. She had also received gifts from the others. From Maya a small cast iron cauldron and mortar and pestle for brewing substances. From Keira she had received a small handkerchief so as to “wipe her nose on something other than her sleeve.” Eskel had given her a small wooden comb for her hair that he had whittled in the evenings.

Lambert wanted to tell her how sorry he was for the tough training he had put her through and that he had done it because he cared about her. He couldn't muster up the words and so he merely told her to be careful, to be safe. He reached up to touch her tenderly on the cheek, but lost his nerve and gave her a good hardy slap on the shoulder. She affectionately nudged him in the chest and looked him sweetly in his cat eyes. 

“Thank you, Lambert,” she told him genuinely.

An awkward smile emerged from Lambert's large lips. He turned a shade of crimson and then looked ahead. The two caught up with the others who had paused in front of the infant form of the Gwenllech. The four said their last goodbyes to Ciri and Iespeth and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is death in this chapter.
> 
> Jad Karadin is the witcher in Lambert's personal quest.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

The Killer had become a pleasant jog in the woods for Iespeth. She leaped down from the boulder, dropping into a roll to sustain her momentum. Bounding down the steep, slick decline she carefully navigated the path, avoiding the budding blackberry bushes, thinking of the scars they had given her back. Iespeth kept up a quick pace, rearranging her dagger hanging from her thigh as she went. She was breathing hard and her heart was busy pumping oxygen to her extremities. The cool spring breeze wicked away the layer of heat emitting from her bare skin left uncovered by her clothing. She came upon the path along a narrow ridge which she often took carefully. The ridge was an ideal place to look down upon the narrow valley with its plethora of pines and aspens. She lazy scanned the scenery watching a few hawks circling above the tree line which broke at the river Gwennlech's borders until something moving caught her eye. Figures were moving through the trees like ants navigating grass. She focused her eyes and realized they were people. _People aren't supposed to be here?_ Iespeth made her way back to the keep as fast as she could.

She found Ciri lugging large pieces of rubble in the upper most yard. Iespeth had to pause for a moment to catch her breath.

“There are people coming! Many of them!” Iespeth huffed.

“What? Where?”

“Up the river. If we go to the barbican we can see them approaching.”

Ciri grabbed her steel sword laying on the wall and took off in a run, Iespeth in tow. When they got to the top of the battlements connected to the barbican, the two peered through the merlons and saw an army of humans in leather trench coats approaching Kaer Morhen. Some were on horse back and all were well armed with either cross-bows or steel long swords. Ciri saw a banner depicting a flame on a red background. It was all she needed to know. She pulled Iespeth's cowl over her head to cover her ears.

“Come on. We have to return to the upper keep, bar the gates and prepare ourselves,” she said beckoning the elf to follow her. Most of Kaer Morhen was left indefensible after the Wild Hunt had attacked it three years prior. Both portcullises had massive holes in them smashed by a general of the Hunt. Imlerith he had been called; a behemoth of an elf. The archway leading to the middle courtyard had also been collapsed and all that remained was a few bits of rubble. The only place offering the defense of a castle was the main courtyard.

Iespeth grabbed her bow and quiver slinging it over her back and rushed after Ciri. “Why? Who are those people? Are they soldiers?”

“Yes. Soldiers of the worst kind. Witch hunters, but they don't stop at witches. And I don't intend to find out why they are here until we are safe behind something more defendable.”

“Do they mean to harm us?”

“Yes. And we might have to defend ourselves.”

“If they mean to harm us, I shall manage,” Iespeth said gripping her bow already strung, with an ounce of bravado. “What is your plan?”

“We have to destroy all documents, maps. Any books or information about anything. There are secrets here that cannot fall into there hands.”

“And then? How do we escape?”

“Don't worry. You'll see.” Ciri began to think about where she might teleport them. It would have to be some place she knew otherwise they might land in a sea or volcano. It also needed to be somewhere they didn't plan to stay, as Ciri preferred no one knowing where she was. It was a force of habit born out of years of necessity. _Toussaint is nice this time of year. It's always nice there. We could be drinking wine on the veranda of Corvo Bianco within a week._

The two women closed the gate to the upper courtyard and secured it with a rotting beam. Through a small gap in the wooden planks of the gate one could see the army of witch hunters spill through the lower courtyard. Ciri and Iespeth climbed the steps to greet their guests.

From below came a booming voice. “In the name of King Radovid the Fifth and by decree of the Church of the Eternal Flame. Open the gates!”

Ciri peeked out over the wall. Although sitting atop a large bay destrier she could tell the man had a rather large stature as well as a long scab across his face. A few meters behind the man was a large tree trunk that had been fashioned into a battering ram. It was bound by thick leather straps and carried by fifteen...no, sixteen men. The large scab-faced man caught sight of Ciri's emerald eyes.

“Not very likely,” Ciri replied. She could hear the men mumbling when they heard the voice of a woman.

“A woman? I was under the impression that there were only witchers here. Tell me madam, what keeps you in the castle?” Scab-face said.

“A warm bed,” she replied with snark. Iespeth watched her nervously.

“Well I am afraid we are under orders to confiscate those warm beds.” Scab-face heard a crude joke from one of the foot soldiers nearby. Something about him having a spot in _his_ warm bed. Scab-face continued a long monologue about how the women would be safe and taken care of if they opened the gates.

Ciri turned to Iespeth and put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Go to the hall get anything of use. As long as I can keep him talking they won't break down the gate and we'll have some time. Now listen to me Iespeth. Spill every last bit of oil, alcohol...anything that burns. And then light it all up! When you're done wait in front. I'll be there.” 

Iespeth got up to go. But she couldn't. A flash of metal caught her eye. A man cried out that they were in. 

A band of shock troopers had come in from the back where gaps had been left in the walls by time and war. Twelve men, their swords drawn cockily, approached the wall on which the two were standing. 

The monologue of Scab-face stopped. 

There was silent for a moment until…

“1...2...3,” the scab-faced man shouted and the first crash of the impromptu battering ram could be heard.

Ciri partially pushed Iespeth behind her as she moved towards the staircase. 

“Iespeth, stay back. You're not ready to fight trained soldiers hand-to-hand.”

With what weapon could she have fought with anyway? She took out an arrow and readied her bow. 

Ciri leaped down the stairs in two strides simultaneously drawing her sword as the men approached. They began forming an arc around their target like a pack of hyenas harassing a lioness. _They'll try to pick at me from behind. Get me to turn and expose my back. Good. Little do they know…_

She charged the first, teleporting past him. He raised his sword to block, unaware she was now behind him. She spun around swiping her sword across his back cutting through leather, skin and bone. The screech he made spurred her fury on as she attacked the others. Limbs went flying, blood was spurting and all the men saw was streaks of green from the ashen-haired “demoness” before they fell.

Iespeth watched, impressed by her friend's teleportation and in awe of her skill with a sword. _Zirael. The Lady of Time and Space. What a fitting name._ At some point one of the attackers broke off and moved up the stairs towards the elf. She knew what to do but the thrill of a real fight caused her to freeze. As he lifted his sword to attack, she felt a sharp pain in the scar of her left hand and realized what was at stake. She launched an arrow meaning to hit a major organ, but in her adrenaline-fueled state landed it in his thigh just above his knee. She scolded herself for such a shoddy shot, even though the man was wounded enough to be taken out of the fight. _What would Lambert think?_

The wounded man struggled until Ciri ended his suffering, plunging her sword through his heart. She placed the heel of her boot on his chest and yanked her sword out. Death surrounded the two emerald-eyed women and it somehow pleased them. 

The pounding on the gate continued.

When they got to the great hall, Ciri began ferociously spreading anything flammable around. She began knocking down candles like a madwoman and setting the books aflame. Iespeth grabbed a pack filling with whatever food she could find. She ran to her trunk in front of her cot. She put the gifts she had received into the leather satchel. Lastly, she picked up the white rose from Avallac'h, not sure for what it could be used. She dropped it back into the trunk and slammed the lid. As she stood up to help with the fires she felt a strong punch above her right breast near the shoulder. She looked down and saw a steel bolt protruding out of her. There was no pain, only blood dripping down from the wound. She felt light headed as if all her energy was being sucked out of the new hole in her body.

“Ciri?” she whimpered, unsure of what to do. She continued to grasp the pack in the crook of her left arm.

The witch hunters from the main force were pouring into the great hall now, crossbows cocked and swords ready. 

Ciri moved slowly over to Iespeth and grabbed her hand.

“Ready?” She concentrated on summoning that obligatory buzzing she always heard when taking hold of space's essence. 

Nothing happened. 

Ciri was terrified. How long she had control of her powers only for this to happen. Her eyes teared up due to her failure. 

“Iespeth, I...” was all she could croak out. She gasped. Ciri let go of Iespeth's hand and readied her sword. There was no way she could kill them all, but she would die trying. 

_I've failed. I truly am death._

Scab-face smiled wickedly as he told his men to take aim.

Iespeth grabbed Ciri's hand.

“Ciri. Jump! NOW!” Ciri's head ached and she felt a roar in her ears similar to the first time she had ever jumped. Yet it was more intense. Painfully intense. Images flashed through her of places she'd been. In the urgent panic her thoughts grasped out and latched onto one at random. 

A flash, then darkness.

The well aimed cross-bow bolts whizzed through where the two women once stood and landed in the roaring flames.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

Avallac'h came with a few succinct groans. Maondine remained on top, allowing him to linger in her until his member grew soft. She knew it pleased him. She gave him a sharp squeeze of her pelvic muscles causing him to gasp and convulse underneath her. The sage removed his hands from her hips, allowing the she-elf to slide off him. She lay at his side, snuggling her head into his shoulder.

As she did after every sexual interaction with him, she smiled proudly knowing she had achieved becoming the _companion_ of the great sage Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha and had remained as such since the death of his beloved Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal. It was a position highly coveted by her peers.

Maondine came from the class of the _G'ymar_ amongst the Aen Elle. A sort of courtesan--as best as could be translated in the Common tongue--meant to tend to the emotional and sexual needs of the elite. When controlled breeding became the accepted norm among the Alder Folk, companionship possibly combined with love became in most cases separated from procreation. Elves lacking any perceptively useful skills, apart from being socially intelligent, chose to serve the upper echelons of society as a way to better their station and further the development of the Aen Elle as they would not be considered suitable to breed anyways. 

The straw-blonde she-elf enjoyed the feeling of Avallac'h's seed spilling out from between her thighs. The possibility of a quickening in her womb was of no concern, since she had been voluntarily sterilized many years ago as was necessary for all from her strata so as to permit her to have unfettered sexual relations. At this point, however, it would not have mattered since no native of the Aen Elle had been blessed with a child in over 300 years despite many attempts.

Avallac'h placed his hand on his chest and tapped his breast bone as he often did after sex. It was usually at this time that he would talk loquaciously, unlike his most often reserved manner. Maondine rarely attempted to prompt him and only seldom and selectively asked questions, as the sage was prone to reveal only information that he wished. This was her skill, and indeed she was very good at it. She was privy to sides of him that few others saw. Him having confided in her many private emotions was proof of this. There were those who had tried to use this fact to gain knowledge about the sage, but among many things, Crevan Espane valued his privacy, which was why Maondine rarely betrayed her hard-won secrets.

Tonight though, the sage was silent. Ever since his last visit to the Continent he was less prone to talk and his sexual appetite was heightened. She wondered what business he had had there, but knew better than to ask. Something was certainly occupying his thoughts.

Like many of the rooms in Avallac'h's villa which was located on the edge of the Solar district of Tir ná Lia, the bedroom was open to the gardens allowing ivy, whose leaves were kissed with a burnt-orange glow to grow, along the walls and ceiling. The air was halcyon despite the lack of barrier from any breeze. Avallac'h lie there relaxed, yet still felt peculiarly unfulfilled. _Something is coming._

He had the recurring dream again the night before so it was no surprise to him, lying there post-coitus as he was, when he felt the ripples through time and space. _The Elder Blood. Zirael. 'Thrice shall the Elder Blood call.'_ His eyes widened slightly and he got up without a word. 

He moved to an empty pool made of marble in the corner of the room. Where the tub ended and the floor began was indistinguishable as the bathing receptacle had been molded with magic as apposed to blocks of stone being cute and laid. The sage held out his hand speaking the appropriate words and summoned water from the bottom swirling up like a small hurricane as it filled the pool. Maondine could tell he had commanded the water to be extremely hot due to the steam that was now blocking her view of his backside. Scalding was how he preferred to bathe. Before entering, he rubbed his entire body with a restoration oil smelling of lauraceae and then slowly walked in. By the time Maondine had emerged from the challis bed sheets and wrapped herself in an icterine-colored robe, Avallac'h had finished bathing and was now magically fully clothed. 

He went down to his lab which comprised the entirety of the basement. It looked like any elven mage's lab: alembics connected to flasks; pipettes and test tubes of various sizes, shapes and sorts; and of course bookshelves full of literature pertaining to magic--some of which Avallac'h himself had written. Here there were no windows, no openings to the grounds surrounding the house. No form of access for prying eyes. It was truly the sage's sanctuary. He pulled out various maps, large pieces of parchment, and a compass sprawling them out on a large cherry-wood table and began zealously triangulating the pulse.

Maondine came down carrying a plate of sautéed courgettes with garlic and persimmons laced with a sweet nut cream. She placed the food on the only empty space of the cherry-wood table and fetched two bottles from a cabinet. She poured a glass of sparkling water for her lover and one of rose wine for herself. As she handed the glass of water to the sage she examined his work, pretending to be interested. The truth was that she understood very little of what he did. Avallac'h took the glass and set it down out of the way without taking a drink.

“Perhaps you would like something to eat before you go?” she asked, taking a sip of wine and standing near the table in such a manner so as to show off her figure. She seemed to direct her firm nipples which were visible through the sheer fabric, toward the absorbed sage. 

He seemed not to hear her as he continued with his work. He drew in the final line determining from and to where Zirael had teleported to. _There? Why there?_ The result confused him and he double checked everything to be sure. Once any mistake was ruled out he determined which gate would lead him there quickest. When he was done he looked up.

“Pardon me?”

The she-elf simply motioned to the plate of food yet untouched. He sighed and put on his belt with various pouches filled with the appropriate necessities that any sorcerer might need.

“Will you be gone for long?”

He walked over to Maondine and took her hand.

“I apologize, my dear, for leaving so suddenly.” He placed a kiss on her hand. “Until my return,”

She smiled graciously and then he left.

****

_It had to be done. There was no other way. All conditions had been fulfilled._

They fell at least three meters before landing in the mixture of dead vegetation, water and the sludge of the bog. Ciri's head was still spinning and her stomach flighty. She pulled herself up quickly and went over to Iespeth who was trying to find her feet.

“I don't understand. I just...” Ciri immediately keeled over and vomited violently holding herself steady against her own knees. Her stomach now empty she wiped the bile off of her mouth with the back of her hand and smoothed her wet hair away which was clinging to her face. _That's never happened before._

Iespeth wanted to go to her but her wound hurt immensely and her legs unsteady so she merely leaned against a tree, hunched over with a queer look on her face. The bleeding had slowed, yet the bolt was still in her shoulder.

“That needs to come out,” Ciri informed her. She put her left hand on Iespeth's chest and wrapped her right hand around the bolt. Iespeth gave her a nod indicating she was ready and Ciri yanked it out with the speed of a viper. Ciri cringed at the sound Iespeth made. It wasn't loud, but the pain behind was biting. Iespeth stayed leaned against the tree. Ciri took out one of the cloaks from the pack and ripped a small piece off to use as a bandage.

“Where are we?” Iespeth asked, her voice shuttering as Ciri tied off the wound. The blood just barely soaked through the thick strip of cloth.

Ciri looked around, knowing she must have been there before. The trees were few and pitiful looking, as if a sorrow had washed over the land. In a leafless red maple was a single crow sitting on one of the dead branches, cawing. The stench of death filled Ciri's nostrils. On one of the lower branches she saw what appeared to be a string made of twine hanging from the tree's limb fluttering in the wind. She tried walking on the few spots that weren't submerged in water to get a closer look although her boots were already soaked through. As she drew nearer, she noticed something strung on the string. _Metal? It isn't shiny._ She picked up a stick and began prodding the ornaments. _Ears. Rotted human ears._

“We have to move. We have to get out of this bog as quickly as possible.”

 

***

Crow was a good bird. He was a pretty bird and a loyal bird. Pretty feathers. Black feathers. Crow loved his Lady too. Pretty Lady. Nice Lady. Lady used to give him entrails and sweets. But Lady was sad. Lady was alone. So he had to find his own treats. No entrails. No sweets.

Crow sees things. He saw things. Things that might cheer Lady up. Two women appear out of air and fall into Lady's bog. He tells Lady. He told Lady. Lady found a bloodied stick and licked it clean. Tasty she thought. Worthy of sharing with her sisters she thought. But Lady was afraid. Lady was still sad and alone. The women are gone.

***

They were a good way south of Velen when night time had fallen. Ciri and Iespeth took shelter in the small remains of an elven ruin atop a hill to the south. The ruin was somewhat sunken into the hill and the two had to descend a flight of decrepit stairs to enter. Ciri would have liked to make a large fire since she didn't have to worry about the light being seen from afar. Her main concern was keeping her wounded companion warm enough, but they had nothing to start a fire with.

Iespeth sunk down against a wall. She was tired and in pain. Ciri had had them keep a grueling pace to make their way out of the bog without a word as to why. The elf looked around the ruin, noticing a stone statue of intricate detail facing the entrance of the structure. A warrior whose pointed ears jutted out from a grand war helmet and a sword on which his two hands rested stood stoically at his post as if to watch over the remains of his fallen brethren. In the darkness of moonlight he seemed to come to life and Iespeth thought she saw it look at her once or twice. She had overheard once, while Ciri and Avallac'h were speaking, that the elves in the past erected exquisite cenotaphs and tombstones of the greatest of them. She wondered if this sentinel was that of the latter and shuddered at the thought. Made by 'her people' or not, she knew graveyards could be dangerous. 

Ciri sat there deep in thought, brow furrowed, and uttered not a word. She pondered why her gift had failed her in her time of need. Perhaps it was like a muscle that needed training. Perhaps the events that had occurred with the White Frost had affected her powers. She replayed the feelings of their last moments in Kaer Morhen over and over until she was interrupted by a quivering voice.

“Ciri? Talk to me. You've said nothing since we landed. I'm scared. Tell me something. Please.”

Ciri softened her face.

“I'm sorry Iespeth. I just...I don't know what happened.”

“You mean, your teleportation?”

“Yes.” Ciri looked at the elf slumped down next to her and a peculiar thought crossed her mind. “How do you know that word and what that is? You took my arm and told me to 'jump'. Then I felt...a rush of something. I can't really explain it any other way. I'm just trying to make sense of it all.”

Iespeth searched for words. She wasn't expecting the conversation to turn towards this. “Well, I listen. Keira spoke at great length to that elf...”

“Avallac'h,” Ciri interupted.

“Yes. THAT elf man about 'teleportation'. She asked about your 'extraordinary talents'. He didn't say much back. I learned, though, that teleportation and opening portals is something only a few highly trained mages can do. And their 'talent pales in comparison to yours.'” _Rightly so. Or at least what your talent used to be._

Iespeth looked at Ciri with a strange expression of pride.

“Well, as you can see my talent isn't what it used to be. I could hop from world to world with a thought, but in that last moment in the hall it just didn't work. Like it was gone.”

_She 's looking for answers, but it's too dangerous._ Iespeth felt guilt for not being able to give her any. Not yet, if ever. “Maybe it was fear? Maya said when one is scared something called adrenaline gets released in their bodies. At the very least perhaps we should just make sure to avoid any situation where you might need to teleport so far. Like being backed in a corner I guess.”

Ciri seemed to accept this for the time being, yet a strange feeling lingered in the back of her mind.

“Ciri, why did we have to leave the bog so quickly. Once you recognized the place you made us leave immediately. Why?”

“I suppose I'd have to tell you sooner or later. May as well be now. Do you know what the Wild Hunt is?”

“I read somewhere that they were specters who rode the night sky signaling a bad omen on the horizon. It is written that war, famine and other such misfortune befall those who witness it,” she said, proud of her schooling.

“If only. The truth is that they were a group of elite elven cavalry from the world where Avallac'h comes from.”

“They were Aen Elle?”

“Yes. There they called them the Dearg Ruadhri—the Red Riders. Turns out there is nothing spectral about them. Flesh and blood elves.”

“What did they want?”

“Me. My power. Their world was being destroyed by a permafrost and they had planned to use me to escape. Even if it meant me dying. So I ran. After one jump I landed in that very same bog. 'Crookback Bog' it's called. I had been injured and was delirious. The Crones..”

“The Crones?” Iespeth interupted

“That is what they are called anyway. Ancient beings with terrible power. No one knows if they were once human. Brewess, Whispess and Weavess are...well, were their names. They found me and took me to their home. And not because they are so generous. They planned to turn me over to the Hunt and while they waited decided to chop off my foot to eat. I had to escape. But I came back later with a friend of mine. I killed Brewess and Whispess. I can't remember the last time a fight was so thrilling. Weavess escaped taking a...a personal necklace of mine.”

“Could you not have fought her while we were there?”

“And what about you?”

“I would have hid.”

Ciri chuckled. “The Crone sees all in her bog. She would have found you. Plus everything in the bog serve the Ladies...well, Lady. Drowners, ghouls, nekkers. I am not about to risk you for revenge. I'll do whatever I have to to keep you safe.”

Iespeth was quiet for a long time.

“Ciri? I love you.”

“I love you too, Iespeth.”

The two slept poorly that night on the hard, cold stone of the ruins floor. Iespeth woke the next morning to the excruciating ache in her shoulder. The sun hadn't quite yet peaked over the horizon yet, but Ciri insisted they leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this chapter is made-up/filled in lore. Maondine is the name I made up for the snippy she-elf that you find in Avallac'h's lab in the game.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

The murky waters roughly sloshed their way through the poorly defined banks of the Ismena. Here and there, white peaks formed where boulders attempted to inhibit the spring waters' passage. To the west of the river was an abundance of white alders, some of whose trunks were happily submerged in the nutrient-rich waters originating from the mountains. To the east, a less dense mixture of poplars and pines sprawled across the flatter side of the Ismena, on which Ciri and Iespeth wished they were traversing. 

It had been a week since their unfortunate landing in Crookback Bog. They had made their way south-east until hitting the river and planned to follow it to the Owl Hills. There they would head south to Cintra—a country still under Nilfgaardian rule—and could then leisurely travel to Toussaint.

The two slowly picked their way through the snowberry and dogwood undergrowth. Iespeth's stomach rumbled as she eyed the white fruit on the bush.

“Don't eat those,” Ciri told her. “Though a delicacy for the birds, they are poisonous to humans and I suspect elves as well.”

They had been eating nothing but the occasional unripe berry and sprouting grass. They had seen a fair amount of game but Iespeth's injury did not permit her use of a bow. Ciri tried using it once to hit a hare, but hadn't shot a bow since she was a young girl and ended up lodging the arrows into the trunk of tree. She broke the tip trying to pry the arrow out and decided not to waste any more.

“Now that we are at the river, we should be able to find a village at some point,” Ciri told her.

The elf nodded, her face having reached a shade of pale that worried Ciri.

They walked another three hours before coming upon a small village. Before leaving the woods, Ciri wrapped her cloak around Iespeth despite her already having one on. She found a spot tucked away concealed by brush where Iespeth could wait for her. She opened up Iespeth's vest and shirt to have a look at the wound. The edges were red and puffy. Ciri ground a bit of wilted chamomile that they had found a few days back and put the mangled clump on the infected flesh. Though it had antiseptic properties, it was nowhere near strong enough to fend off the developing infection. Iespeth flinched from the pain and took deep breaths trying to keep quiet.

“I'll be back soon. Try to rest.”

The village was certainly more than a settlement, yet not quite large enough to be called a town. It must have had at least some traffic, as it had a stone bridge as apposed to a wooden one stretching over one of the smaller streams running into the Ismena. Ciri found the notice board in front of the tavern with ease. 

_-A rake was borrowed from me and I can't remember who. Please give it back._

_-Warning: keep the youngins away from the river lest the flooding sweep them away._

_-Hallington to receive repairs on the chapel as paid for by the Church of the Eternal Fire. May its light shine down upon us. Builders to arrive the 1st of Blathe._

_Not much work for a witcher,_ Ciri thought.  
She walked on into the tavern only to realize that it also served as the local store as well. The shop keep wore a rough linen shirt and had a weathered look about him. He scoured his guest with inquisitive eyes.

“What can I do ya for miss?” he asked, wiping out a clay mug with a sullied rag.

She sat down on a decrepit wooden stool and put her gloved hands on the counter.

“I'm looking for work.”

“Well we ain't got no brothel here miss. We's good folk and haven't need of that. Besides, ever since the war we have too many women as it is and...”

“That's not what I mean,” Ciri interrupted. She forgot that she only had her steel sword having been unable to nab her silver in the heat of the fight at Kaer Morhen and was therefore not immediately recognized as a witcher. “I'm a witcher. Do you have any monster problems I might be able to help with?”

“A while back we had swamp men comin' outta the river. They be terrorizin' folk. Then the priests came and put an end to their terrorizin' wi' swords and fire.”

“And the drowners never came back?”

“Drowners! That's what they called 'em. For the life of me I couldna remember their names. No, not a single one's been seen since then.”

Ciri thought for a moment disappointed.

“Is there any other type of work?”

The man squeezed his lips tightly together and shook his head.

“Well, is there anything I could trade for food?”

“You've got no coin?”

“No, I haven't any.”

“Hmm. That sword there...”

“The sword is not for sale,” Ciri interrupted. The tone in her voice made it very clear to the man that her Gwyhyr was not an option. The man look at her, starting at her neck and settled on her waist.

“The belt. From time to time a merchant comes through here and usually carries such wears from Tretogor to Vizima. I fancy he'd be willin' to take it off my hands the next time he comes through. I'd be willin' to part with a sack of potatoes and a bag of barley for that there belt.”

Ciri looked down assuming he meant her silver waist piece.

“It's real silver. And inlaid with authentic sapphire. I want at least a hundred crowns for it. And the food.”

The man put his hand on his chin and rubbed his meager beard.

“Fifty. And a hock of cured ham.”

Ciri's stomach rumbled at the mention of meat. She slowly began to nod her head.

“Throw in a tinder box and we have a deal.”

The man went into a back room and brought out the the potatoes and barley. Behind the counter hung the cured ham which he had difficulty removing from the butcher's hook.

“Is there perchance a practicing herbalist in town?” Ciri asked arms laden with her newly acquired goods.

“You daft? Herbalism's illegal here. Get strung up to a pyre ya will, should the priests find ye'.”

“Of course,” Ciri replied, finding it hard to not roll her eyes.

***

A week past and Iespeth's condition had worsened. They continued following the Ismena south, and with every village they encountered, they hoped to find a doctor. There were none. 

Despite Ciri carrying all their belongings, Iespeth still lagged behind her. 

It was in the afternoon two days after Birke when a dark cloud as menacing an empty hangman's noose lingered on the horizon. In the distance lighting cut the sky and a sharp rupture of thunder quickly followed.

The looming storm sent a chill through Ciri's spine as she looked back at her friend only to see her drop to the ground. She rushed to her.

“Iespeth? IESPETH!” she called, placing a hand on her forehead. Iespeth convulsed as Ciri held her, yet managed to look up into the eyes so near to her own. Ciri pulled apart the elf's clothing and looked at the wound. Twisted, black lines could be seen originating from the point of entry forming a star like pattern on her shoulder. It would have been ghoulishly beautiful had it not been a precursor to death.

“Ciri, I'm so cold.”

“It'll be okay, Iespeth. We'll make it. We'll find help. Just hang on,” she said, her voice steeped in desperation. Ciri was terrified and angry with herself. She lifted the elf up and supported most her weight by draping her left arm over her shoulder. Apart from the pack, she left the rest of the belongings where Iespeth had gone down.

Despite the canopy of leaves, the rain stung their faces as Ciri lugged Iespeth through the trees. Ciri couldn't tell if it was night or if the clouds permitted no sunlight to shine through. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other and trudged on with her companion clinging to life.

After what seemed like hours, Ciri saw a light through the trees. It gave her the strength to pull her feet out of the mud just a few more times. As they cleared the trees it became apparent that the light was coming from a large manor.

How grand it was couldn't bee seen in the darkness. It was barely light enough for Ciri to navigate them around a rather large fountain and two the front entrance. The frequent flashes of lighting occasionally helped her orient herself.

Ciri pulled up the large iron knocker on the door and let it fall with a loud bang. When she heard no answer she reached up again. To her surprise the door opened before she could wrap her hand around the cold, wet metal.

A slightly aged man peaked out suspiciously at the two soaking women.

“State your business,” he demanded.

“Please allow us to come in. My friend is hurt and she needs help.”

He gestured for them to step inside and pointed at the spot just beyond the front door.

“The ladies shall wait here.”

The servant disappeared behind a large staircase into what was most likely the dining room. Ciri held Iespeth close to her to prevent her from falling. Her cowl was wet and clinging to her face. She was barely conscious.

A man dressed in a finely embroidered jerkin emerged from behind the stairs followed by a woman dressed in an amber brocade evening gown. The two looked upon the soaked women.

“My friend is injured. Can you help her? Please?”

The woman whispered something in the ear of her husband.

“Take off her cowl,” the man commanded.

Ciri looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Insurance,” he replied.

She didn't want to do it, but it was clear they already knew. She peeled the piece of fabric off of Iespeth's head exposing her ears.

“As I suspected,” the man said, nodding at his wife.

“Follow me,” she quietly said. His wife led the two to what appeared to a be a library.

“I don't mean to be rude, but...”

The woman put a finger to her lips beckoning Ciri to be quiet. She went over to a sconce, blew out the candle and twisted it a hefty half-turn to the right, dripping wax on the floor. She then stepped over to a large mahogany bookcase adjacent to the sconce and pulled it out revealing a hidden stair case. It lead to a room with a large table in the middle surrounded by walls lined with shelves filled with various herbs and bottles of substances. 

“What is wrong with her?” the woman asked.

“She was shot by a bolt two weeks ago in the shoulder.”

“Get the patient onto the table.”

The woman opened Iespeth's vest and pulled down her shirt enough to reveal her shoulder.

“Oh dear, oh dear. A bolt you said? What did it look like?” she question while examining the festered wound.

“It was a wooden bolt. Metal tip. I...I didn't look at the feathers.”

“That's it? Who shot it?”

Ciri was forced to trust the woman considering they had knowingly let an elf into their home.

“Witch Hunters.”

“Rutty bastards,” she said with a snort. “They most likely use a three-pronged bolt. The notches are cut so that when you take the damn thing out, the ears break off, essentially insuring infection. We're going to have to get them out.” The woman opened a small coffer and pulled out various metal medical tools. She placed them on the table next to Iespeth.

“There is a tinder box on the shelf. Get the fire going. The patient needs to be kept warm,” she instructed Ciri, as she began pouring what smelled of strong spirit on the tools. She carefully pulled Iespeths vest off her then took a knife and cut off her shirt. Iespeth was floating in and out of consciousness. The woman put an apron on over her elegant gown and began rolling up her sleeves.

“My name is Annegrete. I was a surgeon in the last two wars with Nilfgaard,” she informed Ciri, while picking up a pair of tweezers and a scalpel. “But the war ended and this blasted Fire religion spread, so I put away medicine. Perhaps you are aware, but herbalism and alchemy are a vital aspect of the medical practice and I prefer my skin uncooked,” she said in a sour tone. “Is that fire started? Good. Now come hold her down. This is going to hurt.”

She sliced open the wound, allowing a foul-smelling pus to gush out. If Ciri wasn't so determined to save Iespeth, she would have vomited, but the smell didn't phase her in the slightest. It took all her strength to hold her friend down as Annegrete dug deeper searching for the three metal shards. Iespeth never screamed, never cried out. She grunted and whimpered and Ciri wanted to cry out for her. Tears were running out of the witcheress' eyes. _It's my fault. I didn't leave when we should have. I couldn't leave. I should be on that table._

The deft surgeon's hands moved quickly and precisely despite the agitated patient. Though it seemed like an eternity, the three shards were removed within minutes. One. Two. Three. Annegrete plopped them in a small metal dish filled with alcohest.

Ciri relaxed her grip on Iespeth and sighed with relief.

“It's not over yet,” Annegrete said. She pulled out a glass syringe and filled it with a slightly green, bubbling liquid. Once Ciri was holding the patient again, the surgeon pushed the syringe into the the wound and began pressing down the plunger. Iespeth tried to shoot up off the table. After a few minutes she passed out.

***

It was cold. The ice racing down from the sky bombarded her face and burnt her skin. She had been running for so long not knowing in what direction she ran. She clutched something in her arms. She wanted to look down and see what it was but it seemed very important to keep it warm between her breasts. She carried on. The storm turned to a blinding white wall and she fell. She couldn't get up. She must, but she couldn't.

Iespeth's eyes shot open. She looked around the room. A fire roared near the foot of the bed crackling and sizzling. Iespeth tried to rise but the weight of the many quilts held her down. The injury had sapped her of energy. She looked over and saw Ciri sitting in a chair close to her side leaning on her fist asleep.

She thought about the dream she had. Her first dream. Or was it a memory? She pulled the covers up to her chin recalling the chill of the frost she had just felt.

***

“Is there any way I can repay you? You and your wife for your kindness?” Ciri approached Thaddeus who was standing on the veranda watching the servants tending to the budding spring garden. The weather had cleared since Iespeth had nearly died and the sun now felt warm on Ciri's face.

“There is, in fact. Let us go into the parlor,” Thaddeus said, as Ciri looked at him skeptically. She followed him and watched as he nervously picked at his finger nails. The room was filled with the typical finery which Ciri had seen throughout the Vangrudd estate. She took a seat on the red velvet settee as Thaddeus carefully closed the glass-paned doors so as to avoid that juddering sound they usually made. He walked over to a tapestried wall with what appeared to be a family tree on it.

 

“You see, my wife and I have wanted children for a long time. We tried and tried but it never seemed to work. One day, we encountered a strange woman in Ladden on our way back from Vizima. She was selling good luck charms and other baubles that were supposed to ward off evil spirits. Some of the towns folk told us to stay away from her since she was a witch. We ignored such superstition and went to look at her goods. My wife insisted on buying a crystal necklace that she saw. When we asked how much, the woman grabbed my wife's hand and told her the necklace was meant to be hers as it would give her a gift greater than money.”

Thaddeus had finally freed a piece of his overgrown nail on his pointer finger and began slowly tearing it away from the skin.

“A few months later our prayers were finally answered and Annegrete was with child. The pregnancy was a hard one and my wife was forced to remain indoors for many months before the birth. But she wanted children so badly she didn't care. Five weeks before you and your friend arrived, Annegrete gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.” 

He ripped the nail from his finger and looked down noticing a small drop of blood developing.

“We were so happy to finally have our child, only for that happiness to be ripped from us. Our child disappeared. I suspect that woman took it.”

The man walked to the window grabbing a handkerchief on a table and peered out. He subtly tried to hold his self-inflicted injury with the cloth.

“I understand that you witchers are quite capable. I ask you to get our daughter back.”

Ciri felt she could hardly refuse.

***

Ciri found the hut without issue. A quaint little thing about a few kilometers outside of the village of Ladden, tucked away beyond the trees. It was a one-room cottage constructed out of mudbricks stacked carelessly upon one another, the pattern resembling a heap of horse dung. The roof was thatched just as Thadeus said it would be. Had the budding branches not shrouded the roof, Ciri would have seen its need for repair.

The journey had taken her the full evening by horseback. Thaddeus had told her to take his fastest steed. Though the bay Kaedweni gelding was indeed swift, Ciri had ridden much faster horses. Still, she had urged the horse on, eager to return an innocent baby to its parents.

The bustling breeze made it all the more easy for her to sneak up to the only entrance. She listened for a bit, determining whether the woman or child was awake. When she heard not a peep, she pulled back the decrepit cloth hanging from the hole in the hut and looked inside. The baby was easily spotted in a basket near the south corner of the room and next to it the mother huddled under a thin blanket. _This doesn't feel right._ She thought of Iespeth who had just woken up from near death and carefully lifted the child into her arms so as not to wake her. 

She rode slowly through the night steering the horse with a bit of pressure from her legs around any possible hindrance, so as not to jar the young child. By dawn she had reached the Vangrudd estate.

 

Annegrete cried when Ciri placed the child into her arms. The relief of finally having her child back must have alleviated a heavy burden, Ciri had figured, as the woman who had saved her friend from death wiped off tears of joy from her face framed by stray wisps of straight black hair.

Anabella pulled back the cloth covering the child's forehead ever so slightly and gave her a kiss.

It was merely a trifle, perhaps not even worth taking note of, yet Ciri couldn't help but notice a small ringlet of red hair escape as Annegrete pressed her lips to baby's head. She walked slowly through the house trying to avoid contemplating the significance of this. The thought burgeoned in the back of her mind, which she quickly suppressed when she opened the door to Iespeth's room, seeing her sitting up and eating proper food for the first time in a week.

***

Iespeth couldn't sleep. Though she still felt the wound in her shoulder, it had begun healing and she was able to ignore the residual pain. It was the crying that kept her awake, thought not particularly loud in the guest wing of the estate. The baby cried often in the night since it arrived a week ago. Iespeth had been told by Ciri that the child had been stolen from its parents and she had returned the girl as payment for the help they had given them. Yet Iespeth hadn't seen the child. She had never seen any child before.

She gathered her strength and wrapped herself in a thick dressing gown. She followed the shrill noise downstairs in the dark until she reached the parlor. When she cracked open the door Annegrete was rocking the child back and forth trying to soothe it, while singing a unfamiliar tune. Iespeth pushed the door open curious as to what a human baby looked like.

Annegrete looked up, exposing her tired eyes.

“She is just fussy during the night, that's all. It's quite normal,” she said, attempting to stick the nipple of a lamb's bladder bottle into the babies mouth.

Iespeth walked closer examining the child in the woman's arms. She looked at how tiny it was. The toothless mouth gaped open. _How such a tiny being could make so much noise?_ She reached out to touch the child.

“May I?”

Annegrete held out the child towards the elf.

Iespeth stroked the child's cheek with the edge of her finger. She faintly gasped and pulled her hand away. Without a word she left.

***

“Ciri, I think I know what troubles you.”

“Oh? And what is that?” she said, turning to her friend eager to hear her conjecture.

“You are scared you did something horrible.”

Ciri breathed deeply and looked into her friend's eyes. “I think I stole a child from it's mother and gave it to some strangers. I know I did it to save you, but I feel horrible about it. Part of me wants...almost needs to know why they had me take it.” Ciri face scrunched together. “But a part of me wants to leave it alone, wait until you heal and leave this place without caring what happens to the child or its mother. And that part disgusts me.”

She stood with her arms wrapped around herself in the corner of the room with the shadows draping over her shoulders like a warm blanket.

Iespeth could no longer bear seeing someone so dear to her in such pain. “Ciri, I know something. Something that might ease your conscience. But you cannot ask me how I know this.”

“Iespeth, that is a serious thing to demand. I'm not sure I can to agree to something like that until I know what it is.” 

“You once told me that everyone has parts of themselves that they prefer not to share and everyone has a right to keep those parts private.”

Ciri looked at her suspiciously. She figured that she might have heard something from a servant or perhaps Annegrete and Thaddeus talking, but having been put this way gave her pause. _The night I found her. The day we left Kaer Mohren. Who are you?_

“You said we should be judged by our actions. Not by what or who we are. Certainly, there are things about yourself that you have not told me.”

Ciri sighed. “Alright. I won't ask you how you know whatever you're going to tell me.”

“The baby is not the child of Annegrete, but she is the child of Thaddeus.”

***

A few weeks had passed and Iespeth's health was good enough to travel. Ciri watched as Annegrete gave Iespeth a few vials of medicine and instructions how to use it. The baby, who was in a sling, began fussing at which point Annegrete took her in her arms and rocked her back and forth.

“The baby isn't hers is it?” Ciri asked Thaddeus. The two stood far from earshot of the others.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Don't pretend it isn't true. You made me steal a child away from its mother. I need to know why.”

Thadeus looked down as if searching for words. “What I told you was true: that Annegrete and I had trouble conceiving. Ever since the war we tried and tried. We had success a few times but it ultimately resulted in miscarriages. Have you ever gone through a miscarriage or watched someone go through a miscarriage?” 

Ciri shook her head.

“Eventually, my wife and I discussed adoption. There certainly wasn't a lack of children after the war. Are you aware of the laws of inheritance under Radovid the Stern? Only true born children can inherit from their parents. If you have no real children, your property goes to the state.”

Thaddeus looked out onto the yard as his wife continued rocking the baby back and forth. He turned away from Ciri as if ashamed.

“Truth be told, even without the laws of inheritance I wanted my own children.”

“So you found yourself a mistress did you?” Ciri asked, a hint of disgust present in her voice.

“No. It wasn't like that. Not like that at all. I love my wife and come what may I will always be with her. We were on our way back from Vizima and just happened to pass through the town of Ladden. A woman...Miriam is her name...had a stand there, but instead of trinkets she was selling mushrooms and rapunzel she had gathered from the forest. We got to talking to her and found out she had been born and raised there and had never left. You could tell things had been hard on her. Her shoes were practically disintegrating on her feet and her clothes hung loosely off her underfed body. She told us her father and brothers had died in the war with Nilfgaard and she had no other family to speak of. Marriage might have been an option, but men have become a bit scarce. She was stuck in her hole of a situation. So we made her an offer. If she would have my child, we would pay her enough money for her to be comfortable for the rest of her life. She accepted. 

Once she was pregnant we set her up in a house we rented far away from here and her village. Annegrete stayed with her throughout the nine months tending to her every need. She wanted for nothing. I came back here to oversee various affairs and to spread the rumor that Annegrete was with child. Three days after the birth I went back to the house for Annegrete and my child. It was late in the evening that Miriam came to me demanding that she receive more for the baby. I would have been satisfied giving her more just to settle the issue even though it was a breach of contract, yet her demands were outrageous. I refused. The next morning she and the baby were gone. So now you know.”

“Now I know,” Ciri replied.

“You think that I am evil for having you steal my child from its mother. Yet that mother took that child away from me. Do I not at least have a say in it? It is my child too.”

There was a long uncomfortable silence, yet neither felt the conversation to be over.

“What do you plan to do about it?” The man stood seemingly frozen mid-movement. Ciri could tell he was scared.

“What is right,” she replied.

She and Iespeth left without another word.

***

They first visited the town of Ladden near where Miriam's hut was. Ciri asked a few of the townsfolk about her. They told her that Miriam, after having gone missing for nearly a year, had been everyone she could if they knew of a large estate between here and Vizima. Alas, it was a town filled with people who had never left the village in the entirety of their short lives with relatively few travellers. The two women decided to wait near where Miriam often sold what she gathered in the forest.

Ciri was certain it was Miriam when she saw her. Apart from the hurried way she rushed towards them and the desperate face, she sported a wild mane of bright red hair.

“I need to get there as soon as possible. They stole my child!” Miriam explained after asking if they knew of the estate.

“That's dreadful. We know where it is. In fact we'll take you there,” Ciri exclaimed, examining the knotted mane of red tresses tumbling down her back.

Iespeth remained quiet wondering what Ciri's plan was. She figured it best to follow her lead.

“Tell us, why would these people want to steal your baby.”

Miriam looked at the weapon on Ciri's back and the dagger at Iespeth's waist.

“Well, it's not a pleasant story, but I feel like I can trust you two,” Miriam said nervously scratching her hair line. 

“Less than a year ago a man came through my village. He bought some rapunzel and mushrooms from me. We talked and he was ever so kind.” She continued to scratch and pick. 

“He stayed in town for a few days. It all seemed so sudden but I fell in love with him. He promised to take me away. I invited him into my home and we made love. The next morning he was gone. It was clear that he got what he had wanted. Eventually my belly grew and I knew I was pregnant.” At this point Miriam looked at her nails noticing a small piece of skin she had scratched off of her own scalp. Ciri and Iespeth both looked at her emotionless yet not without noticing.

“Hmm,” Ciri said, rubbing her cheek in suspicion.

“What?”

“It's just strange. In the village they mentioned you had disappeared for 10 months and then returned with a baby. Forgive me for noticing the contradiction.”

Miriam looked at Ciri with suspicion. 

“Who are you? Why would you ask the other villagers about me?”

“Who I am doesn't matter. But I will give you a chance to get your baby back, I promise you that. Please. Tell me what really happened.”

At that moment Miriam knew it was this woman who took her child. She looked at the steel sword on her back again and decided the best choice would be to start talking.

“We met at my stand. They bought a bundle of greens from me. Then they asked about me and my husband. I told 'em I had no husband to speak of. They started talking about how they had no children and that the misses always wanted to be a mother. They invited me to dinner at the tavern and bought me the biggest portion of pot roast I have ever seen. It had been ages since I had any real meat much less anything else to eat. The next thing I knew they was offerin' a bunch of coin if I were to have the old man's child. He was good lookin' enough. So I accepted. Me and Lady Grete stayed in a house a ways out from here. I had never seen such niceness. I got to eat meat every day. For breakfast, lunch and dinner. And the house, it was even warm in winter. Can you imagine? Naught but a draft.”

“It must have been nice,” Iespeth commented sincerely.

“The day finally came when little Adelia came and soon after Lord Thaddeus arrived too. We had agreed on a lot of coin, but it just didn't seem like enough for what I would have to do and what I went through. I demanded half of all his belongings. I knew it was an ridiculous price and knew he wouldn't accept. I suppose I used that to justify myself. The truth was, I couldn't give up my baby. So that night I left with little Adelia.”

“And you never thought to just tell him that?”

Miriam thought for a moment. Her eyes swelled and turned red. “No,” she replied.

The three walked in silence the rest of the way.

***

“Who are you anyway to decide who gets _our_ child?” Thaddeus yelled.

“Yeah, who are you!?!” Miriam shrieked.

After a whole afternoon of screaming back and forth, the biological parents of the small, red-headed child turned their anger towards Ciri. When she had returned with Miriam to the Vangrudd estate, the witcheress had insisted that the two come to a compromise as to what to do with their child. They were far from it however, as the fight continued to escalate.

“I am the one wielding as sword,” Ciri informed them.

“You evil brute. You steal my child and now name yourself the 'keeper of justice'! 

“You traitorous lech. We saved your friend and this is how you repay us?”

The insults came out of the accusers' mouths simultaneously. Ciri had been patient until now. The anger began swelling up inside her. She drew her sword which seem to whistle as she swung it once in the air.

“ALRIGHT! It is clear to me that neither of you care for your child and only for yourselves! I have made my decision as to who gets the child.” Ciri's voice boomed out, quieting down the two. She moved swiftly over to Annegrete who was holding the now crying baby and grabbed her firmly by the shoulder. 

“I am going to cut this baby down the middle and each of you get a half!”

A cry rang out and Ciri lowered her sword as she turned to look from where it came.

***

Ciri and Iespeth continued down the west bank of the Ismena determined to put a bit of distance between them and the estate before the sun set in Temeria. They walked side by side in silence: one contemplating the events of the past few weeks and the other trying to forget them.

“Ciri, what was the right decision?” Iespeth asked wiping a small bit of dust out of her left eye.

Ciri furrowed her brow and looked at her friend.

“There is no right decision. Those three will have to live with the outcome of their agreement. Someone very dear to me once said 'If I'm to choose between one evil and another. I'd rather not choose at all.' But sometimes it isn't a question of two evils, but rather two options. A summation of possibilities boiled down to 'one side of the issue' or 'the other'. You can never predict the future to perfection. All you can do is the best you can with what little information you have and give both sides a fair chance.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both my editor and I have been pretty busy which is why this chapter took so long. Technically, it is still in the editing process, but I wanted to go ahead and post it so as not to leave yall hanging.

Crow was a good bird. A pretty and loyal bird. Crow saw women come. Crow saw women go. Lady was sad. But, then Lady was glad. Entrails crow got. Sweets crow got. Lady said a guest comes. So now crow waits as Lady told.

***

Avallac'h passed through the last portal. The series of teleportations had fatigued him, yet he had no desire to rest.

 _Here of all places_ , the sage thought as he pulled his boot out of the swamp sludge and shook off the muck. The sun had almost reached its zenith -a time at which certain spells were ideal for casting made even more so due to the transition of seasons – signaling it was the end of Imbolc meaning Birke was nigh. He would gather his strength and wait till then to cast his spell.

Avallac'h took in his surroundings; a motley tangle of marsh shrubs, scattered leaveless trees, and a single crow perched on a small boulder not three strides in front of him.

The sides of his mouth curled up as he inclined his head as if to pay respect to the creature. The crow cocked its head mechanically, pecked twice at the stone below his feet, and with a few simple flaps of its wings alighted into the air.

The elf moved slowly after the bird carefully navigating the sludge-filled trenches of the bog. The crow frequently circled back so as to accommodate the sage's purposefully dilatory pace. 

The bog was a true example of polar opposites working in harmonious tandem. Death and life entwined together in an eternal dance. The ericaceous shrubs, which provided a dietary staple to the resident avians, rooted themselves down in the sphagnum mosses and peat and from it drew their nutrients. Insects that ravenously feasted on any and all dead carcasses were kept at bay by the occasional pitcher plant that dotted the terrain. Every thing was eating and being eaten. Avallac'h appreciated such a balance even though it was not a terrain in which he wished to stay long.

He approached a circle of shoddy huts and shanties surrounding a single ritualistic stone next to which the crone was waiting.

Weavess seemed to grovel like a pup submitting to the alpha of a wolf pack as Avallac'h approached.

“Great sage. Wise sage. We saw your arrival in the entrails. Your presence honors us.”

He looked at her impassively. The crone continued to snivel and whimper. He knew she feared him and he would use that to his advantage.

“'Twas not our fault your brethren was murdered. The white-haired one. The wolf. Came in rage he did. On the sabbath. Nggg. Nnnnggg.”

Her twitching increased and it was apparent the topic agitated her.

“Nnngg. SHE did it. That little whore -that accursed blood killed my sisters!”

Avallac'h feared the worse. Perhaps Ciri had come out of some peculiar need to finish what she started. He mightn’t have been so afraid were Zirael standing in front of him and not this ancient creature. He glanced at the sky taking note of the sun's position.

The crone clenched and jerked her fist as if to compose herself. 

“'Twas not could be done to help your general. Imlerith, the poor dear. But help you I will. Ngggg.”

Avallac'h remained quiet, face unchanged and unflinching. His leering aquamarine eyes said all that he needed.

“Great sage. Wise sage. I dared not try and catch her. I was afeard.”

Avallac'h was a patient man and his patience, like it did today, rewarded him. For what reason Zirael had come here he planned to find out, yet what was certain was that she been here and that she left, most likely unharmed.

“Gracious Lady. The agony with which the Elder Blood has caused cannot be undone. For you nor for myself. And that is, among reasons that go deeper than most could fathom, why I am here. I seek the Elder Blood.”

“Agony? Agony is what brings you here? And it is agony which is why I shall tell you what you need to know. But a favor is all I ask.”

Avallac'h inclined his head to the Lady of the Bog.

“Suffer she must when the little bitch is found.”

“ _When_ she is found.”

Weavess understood.

The crone led Avallac'h to what appeared to be a bottomless puddle on the ground circled ritualistically by the fine bones of muskrats, fowl, and other swamp vermin. The two stood over it and peered into the black sheen of the water. Weavess opened her right hand and with her left thumbnail cut her palm deep enough so that it bled profusely. She let the blood drip into the water.

Avallac'h watched as the blood swirled around slowly taking a shape. He saw the statue of the sentinel, Fiallen, a once exceptionally accomplished navigator, standing watch. Avallac'h wondered if any elf alive today on the continent knew this mage to have been on the forefront of travel between worlds in a time when the knowledge of the Aen Elle came not even close to rivalling that of the Seidhe. Below Fiallen's watchful eyes was the crumbled remains of the preparation table upon which the dead was layed and ritualistically prepared for cremation. This wasn't a uniform practice, but in a time when the bog ranged a larger expanse, burial was not an option.

 _The Temple of Fleapil is the only ruin within leagues with a statue of Fiallen. Zirael is or most likely, was there._ The sage cursed the passage of time on his world being congruent with that of this one. It had taken him two weeks to get to the Continent and if Ciri was on the move she would be hard to find.

“There is more, eminent sage. The entrails, they spoke of a message. Yes, this you must know yet it is not for me to understand its meaning. Such is often the way of the omens as you of all should know. 'Before you can go forward, you must first go back. Before you hear the whispers of the leaves you must first listen to the trees scream. Before you can give that which is yours, you must give twice that which isn't.'”

Avallac'h stood silent, motionlessly leaning on his staff pondering the meaning of her words.

Weavess began mumbling to herself as if telling her sisters about how they would be avenged.

“Thank you beautiful Lady,” Avallac'h finally replied, drawing her attention back to him.

The sage glanced up at the sky noticing the sun had finally reached its peak. When he had arrived he had planned for an entirely different spell altogether, but the one which he would soon cast was necessary. He took a stepped closer to the crone. She winced away until he held out his hand. He cupped her face kindly calming the ancient being. He then said the words to prime the spell.

“O bridd a cnawd yir Ysbryd a waed  
Ac o gors hon daethoch.  
digoned Dychweld fon a cherig  
Felly dweud Rwy'n dy enw.”

 _Of earth and flesh the Spirit made_  
_And from this bog you came._  
_Return abound of stick and stone_  
_So sayeth I thy name._

“Muirtiggearthax.”

The Lady froze. Her twitching stopped. She was in a state of calm.

“I am, in the greatest depths of honesty, truly sorry. It pains me to destroy such an ancient being. So rare they are. But the Elder Blood is too precious to wind up in your cauldron,” the sage said sincerely.

The flies buzzing in and out of what was her eye dispatched in different directions. The flesh seemed to drop away from her body leaving a core comprised of muds, twigs and leaves. Once the core was free of its fleshy shell it fell to the ground landing in a loud splat.

Crow was a pretty bird. Pretty feathers. Black feathers. Crow fell. Crow falls. In the water Crow lands. Nice water. Cool water. Soothing water. Crow closes his eyes and goes to sleep. Sleepy Crow. Tired Crow.  
Farewell entrails.  
Farewell sweets.  
Farewell Lady.

“Va Fail.”

Avallac'h traipsed attentively out of the bog careful not to step on any crow carcasses or pit holes. As soon as the ground became solid, he picked up his pace so as to reach the ruin of Fleapil before nightfall.

****

“What do you think?” Iespeth asked.

“It looks quiet enough. Judging by the amount of houses I'd guess three, three hundred and fifty inhabitants. Big enough to have supplies and maybe even work. But small enough to not have too many soldiers.”

The town which Ciri was so severely scrutinizing was a well sized village called Turtan just west of Vizima. They had gone west leaving the main road before reaching the once-Temerian capital so as to avoid the large metropolis, and would thereby bypass Maribor as well. Ciri knew they could head to Dorian and travel south along the Owl Hills -a natural border of Brokilon, a great forest to the west and primary home to the dryads. But she preferred to keep her distance from that eerie wood. The dryads had a disdain for humans and killed any who wandered too close to their territory with nearly no exception. Many northern kings had sent expeditions to eliminate the threat of the “tree-hugging cunts” and every time the dryads sent their soldiers back full of arrows. Once an adviser to Foltest, who's name is no longer of consequence, called such attempts 'pin-cushion operations' when the king called for yet another such expedition. The jest was found to be in poor taste and the adviser lost his head.

“So we're going in then?” Iespeth pulled her hood over head. “Well, we have to eat something,” she complained as Ciri remained skeptical. “You may be a damn good fighter and I'm pretty handy with my dagger, but you aren't much for hunting and without my bow I may as well be throwing poop at the game.”

Ciri inhaled deeply still not convinced. They'd been watching the small town from afar for over an hour. The villagers were bustling around going about their daily business working the fields, hanging laundry out to dry and feeding the chickens and goats. Children ran about in play until the youngest of the lot screeched when it fell off a fence. Soon an angry mother followed threatening to whip the children if they didn't get back to their chores. A few riders had come and gone but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 

“Look, I'll keep my hood on and I won't talk to anyone. Just say I'm your mute sister.”

Ciri knew why she was reluctant. Iespeth's shoulder had finally healed leaving an impressive star-burst scar just above her right breast. She wasn't prepared to let Iespeth go through something like that again and was worried if they found themselves in such a predicament once more she couldn't rely on her power to get them out in time. But they did need to eat.

“Alright. We'll go in. But keep your hood down low and try not to talk to anyone.”

They located the tavern easily enough with the smells of the plat du jour cooking underway and a sign with the words “The Stuck Pig”. The two certainly hoped they were serving stuck pig, but would settle for anything that was on offer.

Ciri walked in first. It would be another few hours till lunch, making the women the first to enter that day. They weaved through the magnitude of empty tables, chairs and benches meandering their way up to the counter where a man with the face of an utter simpleton stood.

“G'day! What can I do ya for, travelers?” greeted the jolly inn-keep, as he stacked a few metal plates onto some shelves.

“Good day to you fine sir,” Ciri replied. “My companion and I have just arrived and we were hoping for a bite to eat. The problem is we are lacking somewhat in the coin. We would never ask for a handout, but I would like to inquire into any work to be had?”

The barkeep looked at the fine sword on her back. “Well, it'd be our lucky day! Just yesterday Benson, a good man he was! And one otha' finest log fellers on this side of the Yaruga, was attacked and killed by some awful beast. Men haven't been back in the woods since. Won't be long 'fore the haulers come and be wantin' their wood. The city official has put a reward out for 20 silver to whoever brings that monster's head. But the lot in this village ain't gonna take it. We's woodcutter folk and no warriors.”

“This beast. Tell me what did it looked like?”

“Well, no ones seen it. The men were out in the forest like they always is. It was time to break for lunch and they say he didn't show up. When they went to look for him all theys heard is a clicking sound like pinchers. They high tailed it back here.”

“Hmm, we might be dealing an Arachas or a giant centipede. Though I think it is a bit too cold in these parts for the latter. I'll need a few things before I go hunting?”

The barkeep nodded his head. “What'll you be needin’?”

“I'll require a few sprigs of ranogrin also known as faery's lashes. Some strong alcohol. And some tallow.”

“Faery's lashes grows like a weed ‘round her and you won't be wantin' for strong spirit here. But I am no familiar with the last one.”

“Fat. Like for making candles or soap,” Ciri explained, candidly.

“Ah. You'll be needin' to talk to Mona. She makes the soap around these parts. May I ask? Whadya needin' those things for?

“I'm going to need to make an oil for my sword. Would of course be optimal if I were applying it to a silver sword but I'll have to make do.”

The barkeep gave her the strong alcohol.

“Is it ok if my companion stays here? She's not much of a witcher.” Iespeth sighed, unamused.

“She may. But when the tavern gets full she'll have to giver her seat up to paying customers.”

“The fact that I'm risking my life to kill a monster preventing you from conducting the logging business doesn't help at all?”

“Business is business,” he said sternly.

Ciri rolled her eyes and followed Iespeth to a table in the corner.

“This shouldn't take long. It's not like a wraith or a spector where you have to figure out why the blasted thing is sticking around. I'll lop its pinchers off and be back in time for supper. Remember...”

“Yeah, yeah don't talk to anyone if I can help it. I'll be fine Ciri.”

Ciri cupped her face with a smile and went on her way.

****

The tavern was slowly filling up with patrons, their throats dry and their bellies empty. The first table was filled by a group of well-dressed ladies, whose perfumes' scent was on par with the gaudiness of their outfits. Another table slowly filled up with bespectacled gentlemen mostly discussing taxes and sums and whose pipe-weed smoke diffused into the expanse of the room.

It didn't take long for a group of gnarly, bearded men to enter needing a place to sit. In an effort to keep a low profile Iespeth casually got up as if she was just conveniently done with her table. She moved slowly through the tavern not sure where she should go. Her eyes darted around the room and she began to feel the fear of being alone.

“Excuse me? I couldn't help but notice you no longer had a place to sit. Perhaps you'd like to join me at my table?”

The voice came from a man to her left sitting at a double table filled with a large portion of roast beef and various side dishes. Iespeth's mouth watered.

The man gestured to the chair across from him. 

“I certainly have more food than I can handle.”

Iespeth eyed the man wearily.“I'm waiting for my friend. She'll be here any minute. I should probably just check outside and...” She was interrupted by the stranger.

“Please. Don't go. I've been on the road for quite some time now and it would be nice to talk to someone. I saw you sitting over there alone and in all honesty was a bit too shy to go over and ask you to join me, but when you got up to leave I thought 'Maly my boy it's now or never' so I took a swig of ale and well, here I am talking to you.”

The man laughed nervously.

Iespeth did her best to hold back a smile as she was tickled by his shyness. She understood feeling lonely considering the past four hours and it felt good to know she wasn't the only one. She decided there would be no harm in just enjoying something small to eat and drink as long as she was careful with what she said. _Well, Ciri did say try not to talk to people and I certainly tried._

Iespeth slowly took a seat and examined the man whom she was about to join for dinner. He wore a finely stitched leather blazer from which a lichen-colored tunic peeked out. His chestnut curls were tied back with a simple, silk ribbon. She could tell he was no pauper judging by his clean and orderly presentation.

The man cut a large piece of a meat and placed it on the platter sitting in front of Iespeth. He doled out various side dishes; boiled potatoes with parsley, roasted root vegetables glazed with honey, little pies filled with minced meat, and bread toasted with garlic and butter. It was the first time she had sat down to a proper meal in weeks. She tried her best to use Keira's teachings on etiquette as she cut her food into small pieces, though she wanted to shovel it into her mouth and swallow without so much as taking a breath.

“Would you like some ale?”

Iespeth nodded. The man poured both their a tankards full.

“I'm rather fond of the stuff that's brewed here and order it every time I pass through. It's a little darker than most people are accustomed to, but that's what makes it so good.”

Iespeth took a large gulp to wash down her food. Once her mouth was empty she thanked him.

“It's delicious.”

“I thought you'd like it.”

Iespeth smiled looking into his large corn-blue eyes. She noticed he had three freckles on the left side of his chin that could have made a perfect triangle if connected.

“So what are you doing in these parts,” the man questioned.

Iespeth thought for a moment about what to answer. She couldn't tell him what had happened at Kaer Morhen nor would it be wise to share where she was going, yet she needed to say something. 

“Oh I'm just passing through. Not really important. What about you?” she spat out in a rushed manner. It sounded suspicious and Iespeth scolded herself for not coming up with something more natural. She was surprised when he barely inquired into her vague answer.

“A traveler, eh? I suppose you could call me a traveler too of sorts. I'm an officer in the Redanian military. And my regiment certainly travels quite a bit. We've just come from Vizima and Dorian is by no means the end of the line.”

“We? I thought you said you had been lonely. Generally being alone requires a lack of people does it not?”

Iespeth was concerned for a moment that she might be prying to much and that he would then consider it fair to game to delve into her own affairs. Yet he seemed pleased as to her inquiry.

He speared a small piece of meat with his two-pronged fork and pulled the morsel off with his remarkably white teeth. “Mmm.” He finished chewing the piece of pot roast and swallowed it with a large gulp of ale. “It certainly is possible to feel lonely despite being surrounded by people, even if they are ones you know. I don't mean to belittle my fellow colleagues and forgive me for sounding pompous, but have you ever met the average soldier?”

Iespeth shook her head.

“Well, they aren't the brightest lot. It's not their fault. The dullards don't really need to be. Most of them come from families that can't afford to educate them and are just doing the best they can. I certainly don't fault them that. But when you are with them day in and day out your mind becomes numb. How many times can a man listen to a group of men laugh hysterically because of a fart?

I was a student at Oxfurt Academy when the war broke out with Nilfgaard. It was a heaven for me. I wanted to become a professor of philosophy. I was working on my dissertation when the Academy was closed and I was conscripted into the army. Needless to say “The Pathological Nilfgaardian Liar: The Liar Paradox in the Southern World From the Mid-Twelfth Century to the Present Day” never got published.”

Iespeth twisted her face. “So you wanted to talk to me because your colleagues are dull?” she said in a scrutinizing tone.

“Precisely.”

“And what makes you think I don't laugh at fart jokes?”

“You see? Clever turn of words! I knew just by looking at you that you were a learned woman. And there is an old wisdom in your eyes that I could never have misplaced.”

Her eyelashes involuntarily fluttered and she smiled. Her face grew warm and she hoped she wasn’t she her cheeks weren’t turning red. She wasn't convinced of the truth of being able to assess someones sum of knowledge by their looks, but she found the suggestion flattering nonetheless. She had always been considered the young, the unknowing, the innocent one and it was nice to been seen as something different for a change even if the man she was conversing with was a bit pretentious. She looked back into his gleeming blue eyes and thought how kind they seemed.

“So I've shared a little bit about my interests and the embarrassing title of my doctoral dissertation. What kind of topics get you out of bed in the morning?”

The man took another deep gulp of ale as if to demonstrate the amount he was imbibing. He filled his tankard back up to the brim.

Iespeth controlled her breathing and hid the fact that she was nervous. She thought back to her lessons with Maya and searched for the words about which topics currently peaked her interests.

“Well, I can't say I know all that much about philosophy, but the study of species, particularly those of high intelligence I find fascinating. I'm not sure of the word, but there is information within each of us, um, telling how we are made up. I don't know how else to explain it.”

“You mean genetics?”

“I suppose that is the word. If it is, then, yes, it is 'genetics' that gets me out of bed in the morning.”

The man nodded his head. He drank some more ale.

“Now when you mean 'species of high intelligence' do you for example, mean elves?”

Iespeth's throat constricted at the mention of her species. She was perfectly aware that they were still in the North and though Ciri always softened the issue when talking about it, Iespeth knew it must be dangerous an elf in the Northern Kingdom.

“For example. Amongst other species of course,” she attempted to casually confirm.

“The elves certainly are fascinating. It is amazing how much knowledge they acquire in their long lifespans. The other day our prisoner said...”

The man broke off covering his mouth with a gasp.

“By the gods. I've had a bit too much to drink. I...I should not have said that. It's top secret and if someone found out that I spoke about our transport I could be court marshaled and even hanged.”

“Oh, don't worry. I promise I won't say anything,” she touched his trembling hand trying to reassure him. She felt a strong sense of sympathy for the man.

“It's just a task that has been burdening me for quite some time. He was apprehended just north of Vengerberg and is being brought to trial in Brugge. I've had trouble sleeping because I know he won't get a fair one and will most likely be sentenced to death. But there is nothing I can do. This is our last stop before we get to Brugge. We are heading to Dorian and then cutting straight south and following the base of the Owl Hills since the roads are being watched according to our intelligence officers.”

Iespeth wanted to comfort the man for having been so kind to her. She looked into his large corn-blue eyes and smiled. Before he could continue a short, stringy man with an upturned nose and a pointed chin walked up to the table. Iespeth removed her hand.

“Sir, the provisions have been restocked,” he seemed to sneer looking at Iespeth.

“I'll be there in just a minute, Strinell,” the man replied. As soon as the man called Strinell was out of earshot, he turned to Iespeth.

“Thank you for the company and conversation.”

After wiping his mouth he placed his napkin which had been meticulously sprawled on his lap, onto the table, stood up and tucked his chair into the table. He raised his finger as if forgetting something.

“I feel like a total arse. I never introduced myself. My name is Maldolus.”

“Pleased to meet you Maldolus. I hope we meet again.”

“I certainly hope we do,” the man said as if truly eager to see her again.

***

There were some fights with monsters where a witcher was happy to have it over and there where others where they wished it hadn't ended so soon. Ciri had just experienced the latter. She raised an axe over her head and forced it down into the hard carapice with all her strength. She cursed as she struggled pulling her tool out of the dead monster's chitinous shell.

“Why can't they settle for a damn leg?”

 _Fwack_. She let the axe fall.

“Or a pincher!”

_Fwack._

“Or even a bloody antenna!”

_Fwack._

“They always-”

_Fwack._

“Insist on-”

_Fwack._

“a damn HEAD!”

_Fwack._

The head of the arachas was not easily defined having no distinct beginning and no distinct end. It was also well protected by armor. Slipping a sword into the crevices between the shells was no difficult task for a well-trained witcher during a fight, but removing a section considered to be a head of the beast was an entirely different subject.

Ciri had finally cracked a significant radius of the shell and knelt down with her dagger to cut away the remaining flesh still holding the 'head' to the body. The insides were oozing a bright green form of blood which smelled of soured-almonds. She carefully began slicing through the meaty innards of the arachas and slowed once she reached the feeding tube. It was here that she would find the venom glands which caused the rank smell in the blood and she needed be sure not to nick them and get the poison on her hands. Once she had cut down to the bottom she pulled the section she had cut loose leaving the throat attached to the esophagus. She shoved the thing into a burlap sack trying to avoid getting any more foul smelling blood on herself.

After tying the top of the sack she walked over to the human corpse that she had caught the beast feasting on. It's legs had been gnawed off up to the knee and had already begun to putrefying.

_Poor bastard. Unfortunately they didn't pay me to bring you back too. I'll let them know where the body is._

As she was about to walk away, she noticed something curious about the man's face. She knelt down to take a closer look. His left eye was closed but his right eye seemed open. Upon closer examination she saw that the eye including the eye-lid was completely missing.

_This isn't from the arachas. This man was shot by an arrow. And a damn precise shot it was. He died before the arachas got to him and whoever did it took their arrow with._

Ciri didn't have time to conduct a thorough investigation and truth be told wasn't interested in it. She needed to get Iespeth out of that city as every minute she spent their was a risk. She collected the head and returned to the tavern for her bounty.


	24. Chapter 24

“What about for a rare Gwent card?” Iespeth asked as she stepped over a large fallen log. The heel of her boot knocked the caps off of a few white mushrooms growing out of the miniature tuft of moss as she swung her leg over the rotting wood.

“Give me an option,” Ciri demanded.

“John Natalis.”

“Is he the gold card with a strength of 10?”

“Yes!” the elf exclaimed assuming she’d found success.

“No.” Ciri playfully stated as she pushed a low hanging vine out of her path.

“Well, what about a new silver sword. Made by gnomes?”

“Not a chance Iespeth.”

“Even with runes?”

“Nope.”

“So there is nothing that I could realistically give you to get you to kiss a rock troll?”

Ciri smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “What about you? What could I give you to kiss one?”

The two came upon a tree whose massive base was the diameter of a windmill. Iespeth went up to the ancient oak and leaned against it. She spat a green, soppy wad of grass she had been chewing onto one of the protruding roots and looked at Ciri.

“That question doesn't apply to me. As I have yet to see a rock troll, much less interact with one, I cannot in good knowledge agree to a wager for that which I’ve too little information. Therefore, I pass.”

“What? What do you mean you pass?” Ciri asked, taken slightly aback by Iespeth’s bureaucratic archness. “You can't pass, those aren't the rules. Besides, with that logic, you could not 'in good knowledge' ask me to kiss a rock troll in exchange for something valuable without actually knowing what such an act encompasses. You wouldn't be able to adequately weigh the value of the thing you are giving with that which you are getting. For all you know a rock troll is a creature of pure beauty. Perhaps all I am doing right now is just getting you to agree to give me something nice in exchange for me kissing such a beautiful creature.”

Iespeth frowned.

“Are you?” she asked, almost convinced.

“No.”

“And rock trolls? They aren't beautiful right?”

Ciri shrugged her shoulders and smirked.

“Oh go on!” Iespeth spat as she kicked the air playfully in Ciri's direction. Ciri took the pack of the few belongings the two women had; it now being her turn to carry the pack. They carefully stepped over the thick roots of the surrounding base of the tree.

Neither suspected the array of arrows pointed at them when they made their way around the massive oak.

Iespeth's hand immediately went to the hilt of her blade and Ciri had already begun pulling her sword from its hilt. The sound of tightening bow strings quickly convinced both to release their weapons.

“That would not be wise d'hoine.” 

The voice came from the group of elves surrounding them.

“Such stealth. I didn't hear them,” Iespeth whispered.

They both slowly moved their hands near their heads.

“Iespeth. Take off your hood. But do it slowly,” Ciri commanded her friend. Iespeth slowly began creeping her hood off her head.

“Ha! Bloede d'hoine. You think we cannot recognize one of our own without seeing a pair of pointed ears. Pathetic,” said an elf before Iespeth's hood even hit her shoulders. The elf walked towards them through the drawn bows. He examined the two women with scrutinizing eyes. “Though I must say you weren't what we were expecting when we went to investigate such a loud disturbance in our forest.”

The elf had black paint streaked across his face and wore a leather cap shaped so as to expose his ears as if they were a point of pride. He stopped a few centimeters away from Ciri's face as if to dare her to go for her sword. She felt his breath on her face, yet made a point not to take a step back. When he was convinced that she would in fact surrender peacefully he confiscated their weapons.

“Curious. What is a young Seidhe and a human doing out in the woods, well-armed nonetheless?” he remained silent for a bit inspecting the women askance. “As tempting as I am to try my hand, the Iron Wolf has more creative methods of persuasion and I'm sure he would love to know what a human and an elf are doing traipsing about the wood. Move out!” he commanded the men.

Iespeth had originally counted six elves with bows, plus the one who spoke to them. She was startled when an eighth and ninth came from behind the ancient oak and bound their hands with a rough hemp rope.

“Who is the Iron Wolf?” asked Iespeth, as one of the elves firmly gripped her upper-arm.

The capped elf who had spoke looked at her surprised as if she should know.

“He is our...leader.”

Iespeth noticed the moment of hesitation and found it curious that some of the men looked sorrowfully angry at the mention. As she turned to Ciri wondering if she had noticed, a cloth sack was dropped over her head and she told to begin walking.

They walked just until the light began draining away from the sky. The sun lingered above the sky line casting long reaching shadows through the dense woods. The elves were keeping camp in an old part of the forest so ancient that it reeked of age. As the women were lead through a hidden path through a thicket, the sacks concealing their vision were removed. They both took in their surroundings. Large oak trees, whose size permitted few other tree to grow, lined the boundaries of the camp. A string of lean horses were kept tethered to a line hung from a few thick tree branches not far from where the group had emerged from the trail. The animals appeared rather skittish and danced too and fro beneath the ropes. Near them stood a small group of elves chatting and examining their fine bows, which suddenly became less interesting when they saw what their comrades had brought back from patrol. Ciri shifted her eyes quickly catching a small, but sufficient glance at each one. _Five more._

Ciri and Iespeth were lead to two elven men at the edge of the clearing seemingly deep in conversation.

“...os mae'n dal i fiew.”

_...if he is even still alive_ , was all Ciri heard as the two halted their conversation. Who?

The elf with a cap handed one of the elves something small attached to a chain. Both men remained quiet for a bit examining their captives. 

Ciri stared back at one of the elves who had a full head of dark chestnut waves partially covering a distinct scar running diagonally across the length of his face. He was reclining lazily on a fallen tree trunk. Ciri's hid any signs of her anxiety when she recognized this elf as she looked into his slate-grey eyes and mutilated face. His name, however, had always remained a mystery to her. 

It had been years yet he had not appeared to have aged since that fateful night on the Isle of Thanedd. She held on to the hope that he would not recognize her given that she had been but a young girl then. Whether he found her face familiar or not could not be deciphered by his emotionless face.

Iespeth kept her eyes on the other standing stoically next to the fallen tree, upon which his comrade was sitting. His hair was kept loose and long, cascading down his back resembling liquid obsidian being poured from a smelter. An armless vest covered his chest leaving his well-muscled arms, which he kept commandingly crossed, exposed. She ran her eyes down to his lean waist and well-formed legs. The longer she looked at the astonishingly comely man the more heart fluttered. 

“Beth sy'n dod â chi a d'hoine hwn drwy goedwig hon s'orca fach?” the scarred-faced elf finally spoke, addressing Iespeth.

Iespeth looked to Ciri not understanding what was said. _What brings you and this human through this forest little sister?_

_S'orca. Little sister._ Ciri made note of the affectionate term with which the man addressed Iespeth. Ciri shrugged her shoulders at Iespeth, pretending she didn't understand the Elder Speech.

The scarred-faced elf looked at his comrade, neither of them betraying a hint of their thoughts.

“Lingua franca?” he then asked slowly. Iespeth looked at him and then back to Ciri unsure of his meaning.

“Yes, she speaks the common tongue,” Ciri snapped. 

The scarred-faced man flashed his eyes towards the ashen-haired woman, noticeably annoyed that she had spoke. 

“I don't recall asking you a thing, d'hoine,” he said sternly in a low voice. His eyes examined her face as if searching for something. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes still fixed Ciri.

“Are you the Iron Wolf?” Iespeth asked, drawing the man's eyes to herself.

“I take it you have heard of me?”

“No,” she said frankly. “Your friend mentioned an Iron Wolf. I wanted to be sure who that was.”

A chuckle rang out from behind her and a joke was made in the elves’ native tongue. The Iron Wolf smiled contorting his disfigured face.

“What did he say?” Iespeth asked.

“He said, 'Good fame is better than a good face. Unfortunate that you have neither'” the black-haired elf standing next to the Iron Wolf translated. “An affectionate jest between brethren.”

Iespeth blushed as he spoke to her. Behind his raven-colored eyes was a certain intent resembling a hawk in flight who had targeted prey. She looked at the ground near his feet as she grinned, hoping to pass it off as finding the joke humorous. Despite the inappropriate circumstances, she found him very attractive and it did not go unnoticed.

“Though _some_ know me as the Iron Wolf,” the elf with the scar said, the chuckling emerging once again, “and others only recognize my scar. I, however, am personally far more acquainted with the name, Isengrim Faoiltiarna. It is what the name my mother gave me the day of my Aymm Rhoin and my fellow Seidhe continue to call me as such. And you are?”

“My name is Iespeth. Everyone knows me as Iespeth.” She realized the redundancy of her words and rolled her eyes until the black-haired elf looked at her with a kind smile. Her heart began to flutter again.

“Well then,” Isengrim spoke slowly and succinctly with a queer smile on his face, “welcome Iespeth to our merry little spot of the woods. You must admit it is a peculiar sight to meet a seidh'ca and a she-human in such a place. Care to enlighten me?”

Iespeth looked at Ciri, wishing she could read her mind. She knew that this was greater than just a simple predicament, but wasn't sure to what extent. She would have to very carefully choose her words. Although seemingly courteous, Iespeth suspected it was just a facade and this elf that sat before her, clearly scarred by war, was most certainly cunning if not ruthless. Yet she couldn't help but feel an almost sense of camaraderie with him and the surrounding elves. They were after all the first Aen Seidhe she had ever met. She looked at Ciri, hoping for any sign of what to do, looking into those large emerald-eyes, which many had said looked much like her own. Then it dawned on her.

“Cir-...Cirena is my older sister,” she said using a made up name for Ciri. “She is taking me south where its safe.”

“Your sister?” Isengrim asked with an amused smile demonstratively tucking his hair behind his pointed ear.

Ciri jumped in. “Yeah, she is my baby sister. Our mother, an elf, was a whore in Novigrad. Humans aren't the only race that enjoy certain pleasures of women. During the standstill between Nilfgaard and Redania, she gave us all her money and sent us to Kovir. We spent a few years there, but the more elves showed up the worse it got. We're heading south before things escalate there.” 

“And your mother? Where is she?” he once again addressed Iespeth. 

She glared at him.

“Well, she's probably dead.”

“My condolences.” He stood up and walked closer to the two women. He looked into Iespeth's eyes and then into Ciri's.

“Uncanny,” he whispered. “Yaevinn, take this one's little sister for a walk. I'd like a chat with...Cirena was it?”

The raven-haired man clasped Iespeth gently by the arm and led her away. A few elves lingered behind Ciri awaiting Isengrim's orders.

“I am cautious by nature and while I find your story rather convincing there is still something that I can't quite put my finger on. I have a gift, you see, and that gift is the ability to sniff out traps when they are lain for me.”

“You think this is some sort of trap? That we came here to...what? Take out a commando of at least thirteen well-armed and presumably well trained Scoia’tael? Just the two of us?”

“Traps are never obvious, that is why they are traps. Tell me, what was your mother's name?”

“My mother's name?”

“Yes. Your mother's name. Your elven prostitute mother from Novigrad who wished for you to protect your little sister. What was her name?”

Ciri tried to hide her fear, knowing exactly what Isengrim was doing. They would ask Iespeth the same thing and if she answered incorrectly there was no telling what the Iron Wolf might do. She thought of a name that Iespeth might coincidentally say.

“Maya. Her name was Maya.”

Isengrim smiled for a moment. He turned to one of the elves standing to the left of Ciri.

“Guifre, ewch yn gofyn i'r seidhe'ca pa enw ei mam yw. Os bydd hi'n yn ateb anghywir yn dweud wrth Yaevinn i threisio.”

_Guifre, go ask the she-elf what her mother's name was. If she answers differently tell Yaevinn to rape her._

It wasn't a reaction Ciri could control and came bursting out.

“NO. What kind of monster are you?!” she said attempting to lunge at him, held back by the elves standing at her side.

Isengrim raised his eyebrows. “Monster?” Isengrim chuckled. “There is an old quote, 'If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battle's'. I know that I am no monster. And I know my enemy. Humans are so savage that you would even project their behavior onto us. You expect me to behave like a monster, because as I suspect you have mostly, being human, known monsters. We elves, unlike the d'hoine, are not driven by sex, nor would we use such barbarity as torture or punishment.”

“Then why would you make such a threat?” Ciri asked, her chest still heaving in anger. 

“En dicette hen llinge?”

_Do you speak the Elder Speech?_

“Yea. Líofa,” answered Ciri, with near perfect pronunciation, once again confirming his suspicions.

“And Iespeth? Can she also speak the Elder Speech as proficiently as you?

Ciri shook her head.

He leaned in and spoke so closely to her she could feel his breath on her face. 

“All _warfare_ is based on deception.” Isengrim motioned to the elf called Guifre. “You may return to your sister now.”

*****

The raven-haired man lead Iespeth to a large tree with roots that stuck out of the ground. The sizable oak seemed to create the center piece around which the elven camp was formed.

Iespeth's stomach felt as if full of rabid beetles and her face rather hot since they left Ciri and the elves apparent leader, Isengrim Faoiltiorna. She wanted to chalk it up to being afraid of what might happen, of what Isengrim might do to Ciri, but that was far from the truth. She scolded herself for thinking of the man walking near her.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, looking at her with his predator eyes.

“M-me? No, not at all,” she stuttered.

The man sat down on one of the large, gnarly roots and gestured for Iespeth to sit down across from him. He was so close she could smell his intoxicating, musky sweat. She sat down leaning forward partly to catch his scent better and partly in the hopes that her breasts might be more visible to him. She'd seen Keira exhibit such behavior with Lambert and was often perplexed that it always elicited a response. Iespeth hoped this man might react the same.

“There is no need to be. We aren't d'hoine after all. Like a helmsman in a storm, Isengrim cautiously navigates a tumultuous game. His suspicions are well-deserved considering the atrocities that have been done to our people. But you need not fear him.”

She found his voice musical and soothing and wanted him to say more. 

“And what game are you playing exactly?” she questioned pulling her hair away from her neck.

“Why, the game of war.” He looked at her askance.

The answer should have been obvious and Iespeth felt embarrassed for spending time ogling a handsome he-elf when he and his commando were worried about life and death. She felt she should have known better and was ashamed of her naivety. 

It was if she had been awoken from a dream, slumbering safely and warmly in the comfort of her cot at Kaer Morhen. This was the first time she wasn't perfectly sure that Ciri could get them out of the situation. This was the first time she truly realized that they weren't sparing for fun nor having some silly banter at the table in front of the great hearth in the witcher's fortress. She pretended to brush away a mosquito on her neck and straightened up, collecting herself into a more reserved posture and began compulsorily fidgeting with her cinch.

“What do you plan to do with us? When can we leave?” she asked somberly.

“That has yet to be determined.” Yaevinn got up to leave as Ciri was being brought to the large oak which would serve as their open-air prison for the night.

Ciri sat down across from Iespeth feeling the warmth that Yaevinn had left behind on the exposed root of the tree.

“You will sleep here tonight. There are sharp shooters in the tree surrounding the camp so I suggest you not try anything. Be glad that we don't bind you with ropes,” said an elf with hair the color of copper who led Ciri to the tree.

Ciri leaned over to Iespeth once all the elves were out of earshot.

“There are seven elves over there tending to their bows. Five sitting on the other side of the camp,” she said making a headcount.

“That makes twelve. But I don't see four of the ones who captured us?” Iespeth asked looking around the camp. “Do you suppose they are in the tree? The sharp shooters?”

“Maybe. Curious though, they are all men.”

“No they aren't. What about that woman over there?” she said gesturing to the edge of the camp.

“Where? There is no woman.”

“Over there at the edge of the camp,” Iespeth repeated.

Ciri looked again at the edge of the clearing and only saw bushes and vines growing up the trunks of oaks and alders.

“She is right there, can you not see her?”

Ciri focused her eyes at the tree Iespeth was pointing at. A large vine of ivy with a very thick and twisted stem was reaching up the tree. She kept looking for the form or colors of a she-elf until she realized the vine was moving. A woman indeed, but not an elf. Her skin was green and her hair a dark brown like the bark of the tree she had been standing next to. She wore dappled, camouflaged attire pieced together out of cloth scraps and leaves meant to resemble the foliage. She walked over to the two women and inspected them with an emotionless face. An elf with sharp amber eyes and nutmeg-colored hair went to the woman's side keeping an arm's length distance from her. A dryad. _This far from Brokilon? Strange. They have never been known to leave their forest._

“Ceádmil, Sirssa,” the elf said.

“Ceád, Sael,” the dryad replied in the Brokilon dialect. “Ae'n sidh un ae'n d'hoinne?”

Ciri listened to them curious if they would reveal any information that could be useful.

_So this is what they found lurking in the forest?_

_Yes. The Iron Wolf wants to keep them with us till we find what we are looking for._

_Why? If they are a threat it would be best to slit their throats and be done with it._

_Patience Sirssa. This isn't Brokilon. Not yet._

The dryad squatted in front of Ciri her face a few centimeters away from her own. She looked into Ciri's eyes.

“Wedd aep 'an Ickr,” she whispered to herself. 

Ciri couldn't understand what the dryad had just said. She was fluent in the Hen Llinge dialect of the Elder Speech, but being no native speaker found it difficult to understand the dialect the dryad was using. She had been once to Brokilon -a great forest and home to the lady Eithné, queen of the dryads- but that was many years ago when she was still a young child and barely remembered it.

The dark-haired dryad shrugged her shoulders and walked away followed by the elf.

“What did they say?” Iespeth asked.

“They are looking for something.”

“Any idea for what?”

Ciri shrugged her shoulders.

“And what did the Iron Wolf want?”

“I'm not sure. Did Yaevinn say anything of use?”

“Who?”

“The black-haired one. The one who brought you here.”

Iespeth turned a light shade of rouge turning her eyes to her boots. “Oh. No. No, he said nothing. Just that they are at war.”

“The Scoia'tael,” mockingly murmured Ciri under her breath.

“What?”

Ciri sighed. “A name that some freedom fighting elves and dwarves call themselves. Iespeth, there is something worrying me. Quite a while ago, when I was rather young, I went to a sorcerers' conclave, a meeting of sorts, on an isle called Thanedd. I won't get into the politics of what happened and who was involved, but Isengrim Faoiltiarna was there with the task of capturing me. We saw each other briefly as I escaped through a window. I don't know if he recognizes me now, but I certainly remember him and his scar.”

“Would he still want to capture you? Is that why they are holding us?”

“I doubt it. The circumstances are much different than they were thirteen years ago. But it could raise questions if he knew who I was. He believes we might be involved in some sort of entrapment.”

Iespeth was suddenly aware that there was much she didn't know about Ciri and there was even more she still didn't know about the world.

“Ciri, are the elves and humans at war?”

Ciri had been asked variations of this question by Iespeth and every time she softened her answer so much so as to barely even be near the truth. She’d hoped to avoid the issue.

“Well, they don't quite get along,” she vaguely stated.

Iespeth nodded her head and pursed her lips clearly irritated. Then she erupted.

“You keep telling me that,” she snapped sharply. “But its not true. I can't...” tears were building up in her eyes, “I can't _function_ properly in this world if I don't know the truth. I need to know things. I can't make decisions based off of lies. I need to know! Now answer me this question! Do humans kill elves for no other reason than being elves?” Iespeth had become louder now drawing the attention of some of their captors.

Ciri looked down finding the words hard to say. She forced herself to look Iespeth in the eyes. “Yes. Yes, they do. Not all, but many. And some elves kill humans just for being humans. It is a feud that started long ago and it doesn't appear to be ending soon. Especially not peacefully”

“My life was in danger in every city, every hamlet, everywhere we went where humans are?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“And yours too? Just by being with me?”

“Yes. That is how deep the hatred between our two races runs.”

It became clear how important she was to Ciri in this moment. She had taken her in, fed her, clothed her, bathed her, taught her and all at the risk of her own life. A part of her, a piece of her being hidden well away only emerging when absolutely necessary felt a certain pride in this daughter of the Elder Blood -a word that Iespeth did not know, yet whose meaning she understood more than anyone.

“And now you are likely in more danger here with these elves than I am?”

“Yes. I fear that I am.”

Iespeth nodded her head showing that she understood. “Then I will protect you. I will find out what they are looking for and we will help them get it.”

Ciri smiled affectionately at her sister. “Iespeth? These elves, they may seem young and they will be kind to you, very kind. But they are much older than you think and quite clever. Be careful what you say around them.”

Iespeth nodded her head, “I will.”

****

“Are you certain of it?”

“I am. That is the exact same Lion Cub of Cintra I was ordered to capture years ago on the Isle of Thanedd. And Sirssa confirms it. Apparently, even longer ago, she wandered into Brokilon and was saved by a certain witcher. They went to the heart of Brokilon and she was to become a dryad, but destiny intervened,” Isengrim revealed.

Yaevinn's eyes lit up at the report of his commander. “Then it would be best if we did her no harm. For that witcher has been friend to us many times in the past and without him I would not be standing here. I haven’t the stomach to harm the child destiny of a man that has proved our ally many times over.”

Isengrim nodded his head in agreement. “I still can't quite piece together why they would say they are sisters, yet they cannot be. It is said that the Lion Cub is the last carrier of the Hen Ichaer, the Elder Blood and I find it curious that one of our own looking so akin accompanies her.”

“How can you be so certain that she is truly the last descendant of Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal? Do you now claim the wisdom of an Aen Saevherne?”

“I am no sorcerer, much less a sage. But neither am I a cretin and I can't piece together the incongruousness of the situation that has presented itself. Too many contradictions, too many uncertainties. It is a circumstance requiring much elucidation.”

Isengrim thought for a moment.

“The young she-elf seems quite taken with you. Perhaps you could coax the cat out of the bag.”

Yaevinn smiled. “What? Are you no longer fond of your maple-syrup-and-anthill method of convincing,” he teased. 

Isengrim pursed his narrow lips letting a half-smile escape.

Yaevinn certainly found Iespeth rather comely and -being a man-would enjoy the company of a she-elf, a privilege he hadn't been able to take part in in years. “It's good that you leave this task to me, one certainly catches much more flies with honey.”


	25. Chapter 25

Initially Iespeth thought they had been in the forest for so long that all the trees began to look the same. She first suspected they were at least not taking a direct path considering when, looking at the sun, she confirmed that each day they took a different direction. But this time she was certain they were making circles -albeit, vast ones- when they passed for the third time a particularly memorable tree with a hollow that looked rather phallic.

Iespeth snickered at the sight and wished Ciri were near her so she could point it out. The elves kept the two apart during the day when they were on the move; Ciri at the front of the train with Isengrim and Iespeth at the back near Yaevinn. During the nights they were kept in the center of camp and always made aware that watchmen were hidden and well placed in the trees surrounding the perimeter. 

“And what is it that you find so amusing?” Yaevinn asked Iespeth, drawn by her soft giggle.

Iespeth collected herself and pretended not to hear him. He pulled some plump, ripe berries off a passing bush and offered them to her. She gave him a half-smile and politely declined them with a tenuous shake of her head. Yaevinn looked at her queerly and began taking the raspberries from his fingers one by one with his narrow lips enjoying the tart treats of the forest.

In almost perfect unison the entire commando halted and, as usual, a few elves left the group and made their way silently into the thick undergrowth of the woods.

He bent forward as if to try to get her attention. Iespeth pursed her lips and said nothing, willing herself not to look at the winsome man.

“You wish to ignore me now?”

“I have other things on my mind,” she resigned to say.

“Such as?” He once again leaned towards her with consequence. She looked up into his sweet face noticing his lips had been stained red from the berries. She tried to hold back a grin.

“You've berry juice on your mouth,” she informed him.

He broke out into a smile and licked the juice off lips. Iespeth suspected he had done it on purpose to get her attention. 

“Forgive me. I know this isn't the ideal situation to become familiar with each other. I unfortunately have a duty to my brethren which is why you must stay with us for the time being. It is as a double edged sword in truth. I wish you to go free, for that is what you desire. Yet antithetically I also wish for you to stay, because, and I can offer no explanation, I feel drawn to you.”

Iespeth blushed. She had learned to control her breathing to an extent, control her nervous ticks -such was mandatory for a witcher- yet the red color enveloping her face was something she could not hinder. She turned away, pretending to rub her eye with her upper arm. The logical part of her mind knew that Yaevinn -most likely under instruction from Isengrim- was trying to extract information. For what purpose she was unsure. But some other part of her -perhaps a combination of hormones and emotions- welcomed this attention from a man who she desired to touch her, smell her, perhaps even kiss her. She reminded herself what her task was.

“Drawn or not, a conversation cannot take place under equal footing since I am still a captive and you are still a captor. ”

Yaevinn smiled puckishly. “Perhaps if you were to come to know more about myself, you mightn't be so inclined to distrust.”

She blinked at him, wondering if this would be her chance to find out what they were looking for. It must have been something of great value considering the fervor with which they searched.

“Alright then. Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I suppose I shall start at the beginning. I was born two hundred and sixty three years ago.”

_Over two hundred years old. The elves certainly live longer than humans._

“My mother was a painter and my father a sculptor. As you can imagine I developed a thirst for the arts at an early age. My love for the aesthete seemed set in stone. Of course, only figuratively,” he said affably with a chuckle. “Like all youth, I desired to some extent a certain separation from whence I came, I suppose. Neither the calling of colors on a canvas nor carvings in carnelian cajoled my creativity.” He narrowed his eyes and grinned cleverly. “The written word is what became my craft. I don’t suppose you are old enough to remember the great libraries of Loc Muinne?”

Iespeth gave a half-shrug.

“A shame. One of our many wonders taken from us by the dh’oine.” Yaevinn continued telling Iespeth about his time spent honing his command of words; reading all he could in the libraries of Loc Muinne; learning and practicing the _quadripartita ratio_ of figures of speech; constructing couplets, limericks and sonnets. 

“And where did you say you were born?” she asked, trying to keep him talking about himself.

Before he could answer, an elf called Mealrenn stepped silently out of the trees onto the trail where Iespeth and Yaevinn were standing. Iespeth cursed under her breath. Yaevinn looked hopefully at the elf whose chest was slightly heaving for air.

“Pa newyddion?”

“Nid ydym wedi dod o hyd I olrhain.”

If the situation had been different Iespeth might have told him how rude it was to speak a language in front her which she couldn't understand. But now things were different. She took it as an opportunity. In the evening Ciri had been teaching her vocabulary and during their marches through the woods Iespeth would listen to elves talk among themselves. Though first seemingly nonsensical, the melodic speech slowly became to take shape. The language was just as logical, albeit structured differently than the common tongue. Idioms and cultural nuances aside she came to learn much about her clandestine companions. Geäst preferred yew over elm bows but couldn't come to part with his fifty pounder elm recurve. Guifre , the elf who had first spoke to Ciri and Iespeth that fateful day, rarely spoke but -judging by his animated frowns and smirks- clearly had an opinion to all that was said. Oleander -whose moniker was most likely a nickname- was mostly inclined to lecture about trees often discussing their classifications and informing the troupe of a type of evergreen oak in the south that remained green throughout the year. The dryad often listened to him intently whenever he spoke of such, seemingly enraptured by his knowledge of all things arboreal. Kell'am was a young pale elf with a face full of freckles and auburn hair. He often asked his companions about the Virgin of Aedirn and the Battle of Vergen -a small victory for non-humans which became short lived when Radovid began his campaign. He enjoyed fishing and listening to Yaevinn's dirty limericks -none of which Iespeth really understood. Sael constantly complained about sleeping on the ground and wished he could rest on a feathered concubine. Ciri pointed out later that in all likelihood Iespeth had misheard the word for “mattress” which sounded similarly to the word for “concubine” for some non-native speakers. 

_We will continue traveling parallel to the road from Vizima to Maribor until we do. The scouts said they would be using this road to take him to Maribor. He must pass by at some point._

Iespeth didn't understand the whole sentence but she heard a certain piece that peaked her interest. “...take him to Maribor...he must pass by...,” she mumbled under her breath repeating the small bit she was able to translate. “You're looking for someone. Not something.”

She felt their eyes suddenly flashed towards her. Yaevinn stepped severely close to her as if to emphasize his size. She could smell his musky scent, his body now mere centimeters from her.

“It was my understanding that you could not speak the Elder Speech?” he said in an almost predatory manner.

Iespeth involuntarily took a step back trying to put some distance between herself and the elves whose intent was unknown.

“I...I started learning. I can't understand everything.” The words seem to stick in her throat. “Would..who are looking for? Maybe Ciri and I can help?”

Yaevinn tossed his long, black hair over his shoulder and waved Mealrenn away.

“I doubt that you will be able to help us find the man we are looking for. You see, we have a particular artifact, an amulet of magic. It detects whenever elves are in proximity. That is, coincidently, how we found you. He was taken prisoner near Vengerberg and, according to our intelligence should be transported from Vizima to Maribor any day now. It is merely a matter of time.”

 _An elven prisoner taken near Vengerberg._ Iespeth had sworn to the man in the tavern she would tell no one. If, however, what he had said was true, that the elf in question would not receive a fair trial, then it seemed appropriate to tell the elves where they where. Maldolus had been kind to her and perhaps she could ease his conscience if they helped the prisoner escape. Not only could he remain loyal to the military but his conscience would be eased. It made perfect sense and she was now convinced it was the morally superior option. Iespeth resolved herself to break her word in hopes of an optimal outcome for everyone.

“Yaevinn. There is something I need to tell you. I know where this elf is.”

Yaevinn grabbed her quickly yet surprisingly gently by the shoulder.

“What are you talking about? How do you know where Iorveth is?”

“I didn't know his name. I just heard about a prisoner being transported to Maribor. It was in Turtan where I heard it. They are cutting through the forest straight south from Dorian, because the 'roads are being watched.' It didn't make sense at the time, but now...”

“Mealrenn,” Yaevinn quickly interrupted calling the scout back to him. “Go get Isengrim. He needs to hear this.”

Iespeth repeated to Isengrim what she had told Yaevinn. Whoever this Iorveth was, he must have been important to these elves.

“It seems awfully convenient. The moment you learn of someone we seek, you mysteriously know where he is. Of course if this is true you would have my gratitude, whatever that of a fugitive’s is worth.” Isengrim traced his pronounced scar around his cheek with his thumb. “The question is, do we trust the shepherd who is kin to the wolf,” he finally continued. “If we move our entire commando west because of you and he becomes lost to us, I'm afraid you'll find no benefit of our consanguinity,” Isengrim sternly warned.

“That is what I heard.” Iespeth was becoming irritated by his daunting suspicion and veiled threats. She stepped close to the scarred-faced elf. “I do not know who this Iorveth is. Until now, I had never heard his name, nor do I know of his deeds. I know not why he was wanted. I know not why he was captured nor how it was done. All I know is that a _d'hoine_ ,” Iespeth said mocking their derogatory term for human, “in a tavern had too much to drink and because of his conscience, which you seem to think humans lack, let slip that his unit was transporting an elven prisoner. If you don't believe me then by all means keep circling back around near the road, but let my sister and I go!”

Isengrim looked at Yaevinn and gave him a tip of the head as he strode back to the front of the line.

***

“They tied us up! I can't believe they tied us up! I was just trying to help and they tied us up!” Iespeth proclaimed. The ropes rubbed her wrist growing tighter the more she fidgeted.

“What did you expect? You didn't really think they trusted you? Elves are cautious by nature and that lot is full of prime examples. Now stop fidgeting, you'll just rub your skin open,” Ciri told her mildly annoyed. If she could, she would have pinched the bridge of her nose to alleviate the pain that was slowly forming in her frontal lobe, but her hands, bound well above her head, were fastened to a tree. Around her feet -which were kept snuggly together with a long strand of hemp string- and her waist was a strong coir rope woven thickly enough that it would take minutes to cut through with a dagger. The elves had bound Iespeth in a similar manner before departing on their rescue mission.

Sirsse the druid eyed them coldly and muttered something under her breath as she fingered the bowstring of her 60-pounder. She had been left behind -having pulled the shortest stick- to guard the peculiar duo since Isengrim wasn't sure if “the cat would find a fat tuna or a rotten carp” alluding to the fact that the whole situation seemed fishy. Iespeth wasn't sure if she was supposed to be the tuna or the carp and decided not to ponder the issue further as she declared both options to be demeaning.

The dark-haired dryad cocked her head turning her ear to an obscure noise of the forest, yet never took her emotionless eyes off the two. She pulled out an arrow and fingered the sharp tip with her thumbnail.

“You know, elves are assholes. Aen Elle! Aen Seidhe! They're all shit!” Iespeth stated with gumption.

Ciri rolled her eyes and huffed.

Sirsse open her mouth and spoke, looking at Iespeth, in the language she barely understood and in the unique dialect she couldn't comprehend. Ciri snorted a chuckle.

“What? What did she say?”

“She asks 'are you not a elf? Are you an asshole? Are you shite?'” Ciri translated.

“She can speak the common tongue? Well, why don't you speak the common tongue to me?” Iespeth’s frantic frustration was clear from her tone.

“Hearing and speaking are different. I have yet the desire to make my mouth form such unpleasant syllables, young one,” Ciri relayed to Iespeth.

“Pfff. Young one. Look at you! How are old are you dryad?”

“Four hundred and sixty seven ‘Leaf Sheddings’ have passed since my birth,” Ciri translated the bluntly spoken words of the dryad. “I as assumed she is referring to her years,” Ciri added.

Iespeth displayed a sobered expression.

The trio were quiet for an hour, perhaps two. The sun had set and apart from the odd silverene moonbeam streaming through the canopy, it was dark in the forest. Iespeth thought she heard it first, with her trained ears attuned to the sway of the trees. The wings that beat the slight breeze, the black form cultivating out of the darkness. It was Sirsse the raven was after becoming clear when the dryad held out her arm with nary a glance offering a perch to the big black bird.

Iespeth thought she heard the dryad whisper something to the avian, yet her lips didn't move. The sound she was emitting seem to come from deep within her chest. The bird cocked its head and squawked.

“Did you hear that Ciri? She’s talking to it.” Iespeth whispered.

Before Ciri could answer, the bird alighted from Sirsse's arm and flew off disappearing into the darkness. As muffled as it was from the hand covering her mouth, the dryad’s shriek of pain was unmistakable.

****

The bodies of elves lay strewn across the forest floor, though as of yet not a corpse was among them.

“Hey, this one here has to be Faoltiarna!” a man said pulling up the mangled face of the unconscious elf by the hair. “It's got'a be 'im. Look at tha' ugly mug!” He dropped the elf's face back into the leafy bed of the forest floor. 

Another came over and pulled a small wooden dart whose tip was finer than a toothpick out of Isengrim's neck. A small drop of blood trickled down the elf’s neck. 

“Ya' know what kinda trouble this pointy eared wandought 'ere ha given us o'er the years?” He stayed squatted for a moment contemplating why this prisoner was so important and what trouble he had actually caused. Were the other witcher hunters surrounding him the slightest bit smarter, they would have realized he was too stupid to come up with a reason why they were hunting Isengrim and his group of Scoia'tael. “Ah shit, it ain't no use list'in all the reasons.” He stood up and unstrung his trouser as he stood over the unconscious elf. Carefully, he aimed his stream of urine at the scarred-faced elf's curled chestnut hair soaking him with piss. The men broke out in laughter.

As he tucked his sore-covered penis back into his pants, he was approached by a stringy looking man who was holding a large piece of parchment and a coal pencil.

“Let me see his face,” the man ordered.

“Tha's 'im alright, Strinell. Can't mistake that fucked ofa face.” the man said not wanting to touch the urine-soaked head of the elf.

“I said, let me see his face,” Strinell repeated in a more dangerous tone.

The pisser promptly bent down on one knee pulling up Isengrim's face for his superior to see. He crinkled his nose as the smell of his own urine.

“Isengrin Faoltiarna,” Strinell stated, scratching the last name off the list. “What luck we had. Yaevinn. The Iron Wolf. And every single elf that survived the Battle of Vergen is here. The king shall certainly be pleased.”

“What’a we do with this bugger? He ain't on the list,” said a man pointing to a pale elf with auburn hair.

“No-name elves mean little to us except more weight to transport and another mouth to feed. We set a trap for high profile elves and high profile elves we shall deliver.”

“Ha! There's a reason I joined the church.” The pisser pulled out a medium-sized sword and walked over to the elf lying face up with freckles and auburn hair. He put the sharp side of his blade under the base of his neck and his boot on his throat. He pressed until the blade had gone through the elf's vertebrae making a feint popping sound. 

Kell'am. A young elf of forty from a small hamlet outside of Carreas who enjoyed a twisted limerick and liked fishing the mountain streams. But to these men, he was just No-name.

The man wiped the blood off of his sword on the clothes of the now-dead elf. “Where is the captain?” he asked bluntly. 

Strinell grinned wickedly. “He needed some private time with our bait.”

****

Ciri had never seen a dryad cry. Or at least she thought she was crying. Sirsse seemed to have trouble breathing as she untied the captives muttering in her native tongue.

“What's she saying?” Iespeth asked, waiting for her turn to be freed from her bonds.

“Nothing matters. It's over. There is no reason to keep you here. The elves are dead. Brokkilon will die. The dryads with die. I will die. Someday with a blade at my throat or an arrow in my heart and I will have never left something behind.” Ciri translated.

“What does she mean?”

“I don't know,” Ciri said rubbing her now free wrists. She began undoing the ropes around her feet as Sirsse turned to Iespeth's bonds.

Iespeth looked into the dark eyes of the creature standing before her and couldn't help but notice a single tear the color and consistency of molten silver streaming slowly down her cheek. The dryad worked slowly but diligently until one of Iespeth's hands was finally free. Iespeth couldn't help herself and reached up to touch the dryad's cheek. She wiped away the tear with her thumb using it as a pretext to have skin-to-skin contact with this unique species.

“Deireádh, sidh? You understand? You. Me. Deireádh.” the dryad said to the emerald-eyed elf. It was unlike dryads to be emotional. They were huntresses of the great forest of Brokkilon, hardened by battle and strong like the trees. Yet here was a daughter of Brokkilon, old and true, crying -if one could call a single tear crying- letting her face be cradled in the hand of a young she-elf.

Sirsse pulled her face away and finished with the rest of Iespeth's ropes. Ciri cautiously went to her sword and took it once she was sure the dryad would not object with an arrow. At this point the dryad was slumped down on a log staring up into the leaves of the trees.

“Come on Iespeth. Let's get the hell out of here,” she said, walking in the opposite direction of where the elves had gone. She stopped and turned when she realized Iespeth was not following her.

“I said we're leaving. Come on!” Ciri demanded, clearly agitated. Iespeth kept still.

“No. We can't leave. Maybe some of them are alive. If they are we can help them,” Iespeth said. Sirsse cocked her head towards the elf.

“Have you gone mad? They capture us, string us along for I don't know how many weeks and then leave us tied up in the woods and you want to help them?” Ciri asked, rhetorically.

“I...I need to help them,” she said, as if holding something back. The truth was she felt the fault lie with her. She had told the elves about the prisoner and if it weren't for her they would still be wandering aimlessly -and safe- around the forest. “They are my people. The only ones I have met so far. We need to save them.”

Ciri grabbed Iespeth and began walking, dragging her with, “No. I won't allow it. I won't let you put yourself in danger. We are leaving. NOW!”

Iespeth roughly shook Ciri's hand off. “I am NOT a child! If you won't help me then I'll go myself. But you cannot tell me what to do!”

Ciri stood frozen. She wanted to make Iespeth come with her. Iespeth didn't know what kind of danger she was getting herself into. How could she? And now she was deciding to go on a suicide mission. Ciri couldn't allow her to die. Ciri grappled with her ardent drive to protect her sister. But someday Ciri wouldn't be there. She would grow old while Iespeth stayed young. It was inevitable that Iespeth would face this world and whether or not she would be prepared depended on moments like these.

“You're right. You aren't a child. It's time I stop treating you like one. I'm scared. I don't want to lose you. You must understand that.” Ciri’s eyes watered as she waited for a sign that Iespeth understood. The elf’s angry face softened and she gave a slight nod.

“I will help you save the elves,” Ciri finally said.

The two looked at each other, a new understanding forming between them. Unspoken. Understood. Iespeth hugged Ciri. The elf was always comforted by such embraces and meant to hold and let herself be held for a bit until she was jarringly prodded in the back by the hilt of a gnomish dagger, her dagger.

“Na dann, camm met!” the dark-haired dryad insisted, handing Iespeth her dagger.

***

The three moved through the forest quickly and quietly, faces painted with thick, grey mud and weapons at the ready. Sirrse lead the trio with an arrow nocked, followed by Ciri who gripped her Gwyhyr firmly. Iespeth held up the rear with her dagger in her left hand and an elven half-sword given to her by the dryad in her right.

The terrain became slowly more hilly as they moved on. Eventually they found tracks from riders and began to follow them. At some point they found themselves walking through the trough of two hills as the slopes on either side became steeper and steeper until they were essentially in a ravine. The sides were so steep they could only move forward or back. 

It was Iespeth who first heard a snap of wood under her feet thinking it was a twig. When a second snap was heard Sirsse looked down pulling up the culprit. It was a small dart with feathers at the hilt whose colors weren't clear in the dark. The ravine floor was filled with them. An ambush of some sort had taken place here.

All three felt the need to get out of this narrow corridor as if it would close up on them any moment like the jaws of a giant beast. Sirsse looked from where they came, feeling the need to dart back. Ciri felt the urge to drive forward away from the path that brought them there. But it was Iespeth who found the fastest way out. She grabbed one of the tendriled roots jutting out from the ravine wall and pulled herself up. Perhaps it was the adrenalin rush fueled by the apparent fear of her two companions that allowed her to scamper up the vertical sides of the ghyll so quickly. She hissed sharply to get the attention of the two down below and waved for them to come up.

Before Ciri could grab the root, voices became audible. She paused for a moment trying to pinpoint the direction. The voices grew louder and it became clear that it was a large group of men who had not yet been alerted to their presence. Ciri looked up to the top of the ravine having to readjust her eyes to a rogue moonbeam and searched for her sister. Iespeth was gone. The men were nearly upon them. Sirsse grabbed Ciri gruffly by the shoulder and they fled quietly and swiftly forward through the ravine.

 

***

Iespeth wandered for what seemed like hours through the woods. She meticulously scanned the arboreal darkness searching for anything. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for. Alone, in a place so foreign there was naught that gave her comfort. She contemplated sitting down and waiting till dawn to attempt finding her way back to the ravine were Ciri might be waiting for her. Or perhaps she would find the elves having already been rescued by Ciri; if anyone could pull off such a feat it was her ashen-haired sister.

At the moment she thought she’d be swallowed by the darkness she saw a small glimpse of light flickering in the distance. Like a moth to a flame she carefully drew nearer moving through the thick forest. The trees opened up into a small glen where a single torch stood stuck in the ground. She crept carefully out into the clearing looking for a reason as to why a single torch might be in the middle of the woods. 

A man stood limply against a tree near the edge of the clearing. Iespeth moved towards him her sword held out in preparation. Her eyes adjusted to the shadows and she saw that he wasn’t standing but hanging, strung by the arms to the tree. His head hung low and his hair hung down his chest. Iespeth stood before the man and lowered her weapons. She took them both in one hand and dropped to one knee to see him better. His shirtless chest was covered in an evenly distributed display of scars and burn wounds. She lifted his chin feeling a semblance of breath on her palm and looked at his face. He was missing an eye. A slight breeze blew his hair to the side revealing a sharp point on the tip of his ear. An elf.

_This must be the prisoner._

The elf began moving his mouth as if to whisper yet no sound came out. _Run._ She didn’t understand and now it was too late.

“I had wondered where you were,” came a familiar voice yet in a severely different tone. Iespeth whipped around.

“Maldolus,” she exclaimed. 

The kind man who she had met in Turtan was standing in front of her a few paces away. Yet his posture and demeanor seemed so different. He wore a leather trench coat with no shirt and his bare chest displayed a tattoo of sprawling flames beginning below his navel manifolding up and over his shoulder. He held a fine sword of dimeritium steel recognizable by its blue sheen in the moonlight and was flanked by four men clad in boiled leather trench coats.

Iespeth hadn't expected to see this man again and wasn't sure what to say. She had promised him she would tell no one of this elf yet here she was apparently attempting to rescue him. She felt guilty. Maldolus and his men must have been defending what was their job to defend. She should have kept her mouth shut. Many humans and elves must have died, because she wanted to help her people. She was about to apologize but bit her tongue, feeling as if something wasn't adding up. And then Maldolus spoke.

“I must say I was rather perplexed that you did not show up with your brethren, though I never suspected that you might come sniffing around here. I figured you had just high tailed it back to Dol Blathanna. She-elves ever were much for fighting.”

“You knew that I am an elf?” Iespeth asked confused.

“Oh, please! You think some cloth covering your disgusting ears would hide what you truly are? Pathetic. The Elder Races in their arrogance have always thought to be more clever than humans yet time and time again it proves to not be true. I knew you were an elf. I knew you and the rest of the flea-bitten Scoia'tael were in the area and would be watching the road looking for Iorveth. And I fed you that information on purpose knowing your little troupe would come for him. Thanks to you every single elf from the Battle of Verden and more fell into my trap. Now they are all tucked into bed and packed up ready to make the journey to Novigrad.”

“You...you lied me?” she asked, finding the words sticking in her throat.

“Of course I did you stupid elf bitch!” he replied, pulling on some leather gloves he had in his pocket.

Iespeth felt crushed. Though he had done so assuming entirely different circumstances, this man who she had felt to be kind, honest and caring had deliberately and maliciously deceived her. She looked back at Iorveth and his many wounds most likely branded onto him by this man. This was how little sympathy he had for her kind. She felt the hurt and anger swelling up through her chest. There was no point in asking why. She knew. Ciri had told her the night they were captured by the elves. This man hated her for the sole reason of being an elf and saw her kind as vermin to be exterminated. She readied herself to ask one more question.

“Why are you telling me all this now?” she asked, both blades now gripped firmly in her hands.

“Because you won't be leaving this forest alive,” he said with a sinister grin. He lifted his sword and attacked.

Iespeth blocked in time yet failed to get the angle just right causing the blow to stagger her. The sound of steel fluttered through the canopy of the forest. The second time he swung his sword she barely dodged it feeling the blade cut the air near her face. She tried to compose herself as she was trained to do, but this was a real fight, with real steel. A blow could very likely be fatal and there was no one to save her if she faulted. _Think of Lambert’s training. Lambert’s training will get you through this._

She rebalanced herself and regained her fighting stance. She attempted an attaque au fer to assess his strength. She’d never fought a human male before and wondered how much weaker they were than Lambert. _Weaker. But not by much._

Iespeth began to circle around him afraid to attack. He had more reach with his one-handed long sword. She would have to use speed and finesse to get around his blade.

She fléched towards Maldolus watching him prepare for a blow to the right. Light on her feet, she quickly changed sides and slashed at him as she whizzed by. She turned around to inspect her work looking for blood. A small cut in his leather coat was all she accomplished. One of his men moved forward to assist him. Maldolus waived him off. He smirked and began advancing.

Iespeth flipped her half-sword so that the flat lay against her forearm and met his blow at such an angle causing it to slide past her. At this point there was a bit of distance between them again. Iespeth saw it as an opportunity to obtain some speed and get back in stabbing distance. Once she was close in and her half-sword in direct contact with his blade she looped her dagger around attempting to cut his exposed neck.

_Fwack._

She couldn’t see. Her head throbbed. His fist. She forgot about his fist. Maldolus had pounded his metal-studded glove into her temple. She felt another blow to the back of her knees causing her to fall. She let go of her weapons to catch herself before landing on her face. Both blades made an acute ring when they hit the ground. Now on all fours Maldolus planted his steel-toed boot into her side. She hoarsely exhaled having the air knocked out of her lunges. She lay there curled up gasping for air.

He waited for her to cry, to beg for mercy like every other one of these female abominations had done before. He’d wait for her to compose herself. They always tried to use their breasts, big eyes and tears to save their pitiful lives. It felt amazing to have that much power over such an evil being, to watch them beg for something over which he had complete control. He would be patient and wait for the satisfaction. He'd let her get up and try her best to cry, beg and plead.

***

“Get up. GET UP!” Lambert had yelled.

Iespeth's body hurt and her trainer was relentless. Her hands shook and her legs trembled. She couldn't. She cried for the first time.

“What is this? Why are my eyes leaking?”

“Those are tears. They are a woman's tool...but they will be of no use to you. GET UP!”

Iespeth felt the hot drops rolling down her face.

“Please. Lambert! I can't! PLEASE,” she pleaded. She began to reach up to him like a helpless baby.

He swatted her hand painfully away with his training sword and got down near her face. He put one of his hands around her throat and squeezed hard enough on her larynx to make his point.

“Do you think when you are in a fight with a monster, that tears and begging for mercy will save you? Do you think that will have any effect on them? They will try to crush you or cut you or devour you whether you are standing upright with a sword or on the ground sniveling. Now. Get UP.”

He let go of her and took a few steps back, his sword at the ready.

Iespeth wiped off her face with her sleeve, grabbed her weapon and pulled herself to her feet. She held her sword up ready to defend herself.

“Good. Now go fletch some arrows. I'm gonna take you hunting in the morning.”

Lambert walked off toward the stables.

Iespeth, in that moment, had thought him to be evil. Thought that he was without feeling. Thought he liked punishing her and that “training” was actually just a sick, satisfying game for him. Had she been allowed to follow him, though, she would have seen go into an empty stall, punch the wall so hard his knuckles bled, and wipe a single tear away before it had a chance to leave his eye.

***  
_Get up._

She pulled herself off the ground, her head pounding. She felt blood dripping down her cheek stemming from her temple. Her side ached from the kick to her ribs, but she pulled herself up never-the-less onto her knees. Maldolus was staring down at her with a sinister grin on his face casually resting his hands on the pommel of his sword whose tip he had stuck in the ground as if he were waiting for something.

Her vision had now cleared. She recognized the man's stance by looking at his feet and she saw that he considered himself victorious by the lazy way in which he was holding his sword. She didn't even look up into his eyes. She kicked off the ground going into a roll grabbing her dagger in the tumble. She leapt towards Maldolus and as she passed him slid her dagger with all her might across his thigh hoping to cut his femoral artery. Whatever she had done certainly hurt, as she heard him drop to his knees with a squeal. She sprang to her feet and turned around quickly. To be sure that he was truly rendered harmless, she jabbed her dagger into his sword arm until she felt the bone. The man screeched. His sword dropped. She could smell blood that was rapidly vacating his body; a satisfying mix of triumph and iron, sweet and tangy iron. But it was no time to celebrate. Not yet. Not until her opponent was truly vanquished.

She walked over to Maldolus and looked him in the eyes which were now filled with terror. Funny how fast that could change. 

“Please! I have a family. I have children! Please have mercy!”

He cried and pleaded and begged, but she just looked at him with her angry emerald eyes. She finally spoke.

“It's people like you that make others become cruel,” she said in a rather monotone voice.

She grabbed the back of his head with her scarred hand and held the tip of her dagger in front of his right pupil.

“I suppose sometimes this is the only solution for monsters.”

“Please no!”

She slowly pushed her sharp blade into his eye. His screams pierced the still, night air. Even as the steel was already halfway into his head, even as his lifeless body twitched, she continued applying force until she felt the tip of her weapon peak out of the back of his skull. She was so focused with her hate she had forgotten about the gang of armed men surrounding her and her opponent. When she heard a sudden plop, she thought a crossbow bolt had been let fly. She looked over and saw her ashen-haired sister standing there holding the severed head of a witch hunter surrounded by the rest motionless on the ground. One had a large gash wound to the chest, while the other two were sporting arrows in their eye and mouth.

As she let Maldolus’ body fall to the ground, Iespeth felt her eyes swelling up. She breathed deeply trying to contain the liquid she knew wanted to spew from her eyes. Her head pounded and she reached up to touch the now dry and crusted blood on her cheek. 

Ciri dropped the head she was holding and went to Iespeth. As soon as the elf felt the comforting embrace of her sister, she released her anger, her sorrow and fear that she had tucked away for the fight. Ciri stroked her hair careful to avoid her injury and held her tightly.

“It's over. I'm here. You're alright. It's all over.”

****

If one could not find the camp, one would have only need follow the trail of witch hunter corpses. A sort of trail of treats for Iespeth. Every one she passed she gave a kick and mumbled the occasional odd profane curse as she walked by. Some of the dead witch hunters were missing heads or most of their major organs, while others had been precisely shot with an arrow in the mouth or eye.

“Why are we going to their camp?” Iespeth asked.

“To see if there is anything of use,” Ciri answered.

“And to admire the ladies' handwork,” added Iorveth with a earned hint of wickedness. The elf was rather weak and wounded and relied on Ciri's strength for support as they made their way.

The large fire could still be seen burning through the trees. The group tread carefully now so as to not step on any bodies. Sirrse removed the arrows for which she hadn't had time to retrieve in the heat of the battle. At some point she pulled out the mangled eye of a thin, stringy man when she yanked the shaft out of his skull. She shook her arrow a few times eventually loosening the eyeball and flinging it against a tree. It clung to the bark with a splat. She remarked in the Elder Speech how pleased she was that no arrow tips broke off.

Ciri sat Iorveth down next to a wagon filled with what appeared to be coffins, where he could lean against one of the wheels to rest. She went over to the body of a dead elf with a severed neck a few meters away from the fire. She knelt down and placed her hand on the back of his head as Iorveth looked on.

“I'm sorry,” she said, sincerely. She assumed the coffins were filled with the rest of the dead commando, though why the witch hunters would put them in boxes was unknown to her.

“I barely knew him,” he said with somber remorse. “We picked him up near Carreas. Six, maybe seven months ago. I can’t remember exactly when it was. Such a young Seidhe,” he said shaking his head. “Youth is so precious,” he said glancing at Iespeth almost hopeful and then back at Kell’am's corpse. “It wasn't long after he joined us that I...well, now is not the time for that story. Let's see what we can find here.”

****

His breath reflected on the surface not five centimeters aways from his nose. The darkness was consuming. Was he dead? Was death just being a foggy consciousness in a dark universe of nothing? He reached out only to find the space in which he was confined disallowed his arms to bend. He scuffed his feet finding little room for them to move. The grain of the rough wood scratched and inflamed his bare skin. Consciousness was such a funny thing. It seemed there was no definable boundary between _Aislin'ge_ -the dream world- and _Feassac'h_ -the world where the cognizant mind and body work in perfectly tandem.

Isengrim endeavored to gather his senses. His thoughts and memories were hazy. He wiggled his toes and flexed his fingers checking to see if all his body parts were there and thought back. 

_The woods. In the woods they had been running from...something. Someone? It was no longer clear. Some of us had fallen. Most of them. Most of them, fallen. I ran. I ran to hide. No grand glory. No victory. Survival was all that mattered. Then the bees...or were they something else? The bees stung and the jaws swallowed._

And here the Iron Wolf was, trapped in the stomach of a beast; though in truth a stomach of wood and nails. _A coffin. I'm in a coffin_ , he finally realized. He tried to stay calm knowing that there was little chance of escape and he would need his strength should the possibility arise. The curious drugs in his body now reached their half-life culminating in rather interesting effects. His heart began to pound and his blood raced, the pressure building out of control. The lack of space was stifling and the panic gripped him. He screamed, banging anything he could against the innards of the wooden box. The box jumped due to his thrashing. He paused for a moment trying to fill his lungs with what little oxygen there was in his wooden prison.

His breathing mellowed. He heard voices. Muffled voices. He felt the vibration of the box as an object was wedged between the lid and the frame and the one was torn away from the other. Four hands grasped his arms and shoulders and pulled him out. He felt the ground on his feet. Isengrim remained squatted lest he fall and tried to orient himself. He didn’t even have to look up. To his the left, the beige boots of the Child Surprise and on the right, her elven companion. 

He took a short glance towards the fire and saw the body of Kell’am. Dead. The emerald-eyes of the she-elf was the next thing he saw as she took a quaint step towards him. Rage and battle instincts overtook him perhaps intensified by the poison coursing through his veins. His entire unit had been killed because of this traitor. He lunged at Iespeth screaming, both hands outstretched. He wanted to hurt someone as much he was hurt. He'd expected it to come from the one with ashen hair, but it was Sirrse that stopped him with painful prejudice.

“Rheoli eich hun, Bleidd!” the dryad said, lowering her dagger whose hilt she had used as a rather effective blunt object.

He stumbled back, holding his nose which was now bleeding. He slouched down on the ground next to Kell’am's body and began crying, overwhelmed with emotion and presumably still effected by the drugs.

The three women stood around him unsure of what to do.

A hand was placed on Isengrim's shoulders. He looked up and saw the eye of his friend.

“Iorveth?” he said, clearly shocked and surprised. His brother -not by blood- but his brother nonetheless was alive standing before him. He pulled himself off the ground and embraced Iorveth.

“Come. Let us free the others. It would be best if our faces were the first they saw.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maldolus is the character that I introduced in chapter 19 when he extracted the location of Kaer Morhen from Jad Karadin by threatening and subsequently killing his wife. Iespeth met him in chapter 23.  
> Fun fact: Dolos or Dolus (Latin) was a spirit of trickery and guile in Greek mythology, which is why I chose Maldolus' name to have this root since he is a malicious liar. I also had lots of fun killing him off. I hope y'all found him to be as evil as I did.


	26. Chapter 26

Ciri picked her way through the mosaic of ritualistically layed out seeds and acorns careful not to disturb the hard labors of the dryads. Centuries of undergrowth deformed under her feet as the heels of her boots penetrated the leafy ground. She nodded at the two scantily clad forest women finishing the final touches to the pattern. Normally wearing a patchwork of cloth, leaves and twigs, the dryads were dressed for a special occasion this day. Around their head and waists they wore rings of intertwined vines and apart from that, nothing else. Their bare breasts were besmeared with a fine clay laced with the scents of white peony and primrose and their green skin shined from the gleam of oil.

_Belleteyn. May Eve. The day of fertility and renewal._

Ciri, Iespeth and the commando of elves had arrived in Brokilon four days prior and to Duén Canell two days ago. Without the guidance of Sirsse, they mightn’t have made it through the vast forests. Apart from spanning many square kilometers, Brokilon was laced with traps set up by the dryads to keep out uninvited visitors. Upon arrival the group were given their pick of lodgings all of which resembled huge bunches of mistletoe. Ciri remembered years and years ago when the “funny cottages” were filled with dryads, but now many seemed empty. Or so she thought.

She continued her way through the Place of the Oak to a more secluded spot of the basin where a grove of poplars shimmered like moonlight on a windy sea. There, a small brook curved its way under the silver leaves where she hoped to wash herself. The path was steeped in steam and Ciri felt the magic tingling in her fingertips and lips. The Silver-Eyed stood near a large, old stump waiting, as if knowing that Ciri would come.

“Ceád, Child of the Elder Blood. Long has it been since last you were here.”

“Lady Eithné,” Ciri replied. She swallowed her pride and bowed to the venerable lady recognizing her generosity in letting them remain for a time in Brokilon to enjoy the haven and lick their wounds. 

The queen of the dryads looked at her with deep eyes of molten silver behind which centuries of wisdom were hidden.

“Walk with me,” the queen of the dryads commanded.

Ciri wasn’t one to simply obey commands, but the Silver-Eyed was not one to be denied especially in her own home.

They walked solemnly along the banks of the brook, the warm steam permeating form its banks.

“Are you rested?” Eithné finally asked, looking straight ahead putting one bare foot melodically in front of the other.

Ciri looked at her skeptically. “Yes. I thank you for your hospitality. For myself and for Iespeth.”

The dryad examined the ashen-haired woman with her huge, silver eyes. Ciri’s tenseness was noticeable.

“Is there something amiss child?”

“The last time I was here you tried to make me a dryad. Forgive me if I’m a bit wary.”

“Ah. So we are to revisit the past? Very well then. What is it you wish to discuss?”

Ciri looked at her bewildered. “Was it not you who was waiting for me back there?” 

“Was I?” Eithné grinned.

Ciri looked away and scoffed. “Don’t play games. You wanted to take my life away from me and give me a new one all those years ago. The life of a dryad. I wasn’t some little girl who was told to walk into Brokilon alone, diseased and unwanted. I was a little girl with a grandmother, a home, a destiny and...”

“And when you drank the Water of Brokilon? What happened?”

Ciri huffed in anger.

“It was not your destiny to become a Daughter of...,”

“Damn destiny! It was your intent to take my memories, my life away!” Ciri interrupted loudly.

“Hold your tongue, Child of the Elder Blood. Do not forget in whose wood you are! A woman grown may you be, but a child nonetheless with nary an inclination to the ways of this world. The path of an idealist is noble yet not always viable nor wise” Eithné snapped, her voice piercing the shrouding mist.

Though the burning in her eyes was still visible, Ciri composed herself lest the dryad turn her cutting words into action.

The queen gave a slight wave of her hand and sighed. “I cannot begrudge your feelings on the matter, I confess. It is done. It is over and past. Tell me, how is your Geralt of Rivia?”

Ciri wondered why she would bring him up.

“Is he comfortable in his vineyard? Growing grapes, tasting wine, sitting in the sun?”

“How do you know where Geralt is?

“It might surprise you how many tidings from the world reach Brokilon such as how he fought the Wild Hunt and won. And by his side fought his Child Surprise. I’m curious, what was it that those elves wanted from you?” she asked rhetorically.

Ciri gave pause before answering. “My blood. They wanted to use my power.”

“And why would they want that? What could possibly drive a small group of decrepit, old elves to follow such a powerful being through space, hopping from one world to the next?”

Ciri thought for a moment. She wanted to tell the queen how evil Eredin was. That he only lusted for power. She thought back to her many conversations with Avallac’h and replied.

“Fear. He succumbed to his fear of the apocalypse. Tedd Deireadh. He feared for his and the Aen Elle’s survival.”

“Ah. So it is. And why did you run? Why did you fight?”

“Out of fear for my survival and of those I love.”

She smiled, satisfied with Ciri’s answer.

Ciri understood. Survival was a unending, sometimes bloody war. Though she didn’t forgive the dryad queen, she at least understood.

“I do apologize for the events those few years ago, but I hope you understand why. That was the way of things. And still, destiny spat upon me that day teaching me a lesson. And I learned it. You see, something ended and something begins.”

“But what exactly?”

Eithné smiled as if pleased she asked.

They were now back amongst the funny little huts surrounding the Great Oak. The large pattern of various seeds and acorns had been completed. Ciri wasn’t sure what it was meant to represent seeing as she would need to look at it from further away. She turned her attention to the queen who began to speak.

“Do you see that dryad there?” Eithné asked, pointing to a black-eyed dryad with scarlet colored hair.

“Athnua’cha we call her.” _Rejuvenation._ “Twenty three she’ll be this year. And so shall her seven sisters.”

“My my, isn’t her mother the prolific one.”

“You are mistaken. Not her mother. Her father. Perhaps you recall a certain Frexinet? That human proved useful to us 'eerie wives'”

Ciri did remember him. It was under his watch that she had run away those many years ago. He had followed her into Brokilon only to be taken by the dryads after receiving a serious injury. She had never heard of him again until now.

“You must have been sad to see him go then?”

“No,” Eithné said bluntly. “You see that one over there. She’ll turn twenty soon. And her fifteen sisters with her. Their father, an elf called Chireadan, proved much more agreeable to us,” she said matter-of-factly. “He came to us wounded, in need of healing and we happily obliged in exchange for his services. Quite a phenomenon I dare say. Sidh,” she began, referring to the elves in the Brokilon dialect, “aren’t known for being particularly fruitful, particularly those at his age, yet within a month he sired sixteen of our daughters. Certainly curious.”

“And where are their sisters?” Ciri asked assuming they had fallen in battle like many of the dryads had.

“Why, healthy and happy tending to our borders of course.”

Ciri nodded in understanding. She thought for a moment.

“Is that why the elves are here?” Ciri asked, indicating the young dryad with a shake of her head.

“Natures gives and nature takes. A cycle to which we all belong,” Eithné replied.

“I get it. You’ve made your point.”

“Not quite Child Surprise.” The queen called out to a dryad holding a reed-woven basket filled with pine cones. She promptly came over to the two. She differed in appearance from the others, almost looking human. Her skin had no green hue and instead boasted the paleness of a birch tree. Her eyes were a shade of chestnut brown with a mane of hair to match. 

“Arianwen, tell the Child Surprise how you came to us?”

The dryad put her basket down.

“Three years ago Redanian soldiers came through my village. Law dictated that we feed and house soldiers of the crown so my family did. That evening some of the soldiers came back from the tavern drunk. They pulled me out of bed and had their way with me. I was fourteen at the time. My father found out and accused me of having seduced them. That it was my fault. The next day he and my brothers dragged me out near the wood and beat me till I couldn’t stand. Said I had dishonored the family and that I was spoiled goods. Said no man would take me now and I’d just be a burden to them if I couldn’t marry. They left me there to die. But I didn’t. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I drug myself as far into Brokilon as I could hoping the ‘eerie wives’, as I knew them then, would put an arrow in my eye. They didn’t. They took me in. Healed me. Told me I could leave if I wanted. I didn’t want to. I chose to become what I am. I am dryad. I am Arianwen of Brokilon!”

Though a heartbreaking tale, the dryad told her story without emotion. When she finished ,Arianwen looked at Eithné as if silently asking if she was further needed. The queen nodded and the dryad left with her basket, resuming her work.

“She has all her memories? I thought when humans drink the Waters of Brokilon they cease to be what they were?”

“Yes. Or so we once thought. It seems that a mature women does not suffer the same side-effects as a child. Their brain and body is veritably different than that of a young girl. She was the first non-child we have taken in and she will not be the last.”

Ciri wasn’t sure what she was implying. 

Eithné noticed her confusion and elaborated. “The war has wreaked havoc on the people of the North. Famine and disease have spread. The cruelty and paranoia of this so called Church of the Eternal Fire has destroyed almost everyone with the know-how to stop disease. Instead they focus on anyone that they consider non-human, magical or dare I say even remotely special. They celebrate the mundane. Those humans go even as far as to condemn their own woman. They see it fitting to destroy the one limiting factor in their reproduction. They seem to have no limit to their stupidity. Yet, their loss is our gain. What could be more dangerous than someone who knows the enemy inside and out and will do anything to prevent that evil from entering our wood? They fight against an evil they know all too well. What pure-blood dryad can claim the same?”

Ciri remained silent. They had now walked up a massive root and were standing outside of the queen's abode. She looked down upon the pattern that the dryads had so diligently made and noticed it was mural of a snake swallowing its own tale. _Uroboros. The unending cycle. Something ends, something begins._

Her attention was drawn away by the familiar laughter of Iespeth. Something that Yaevinn had told her probably. In the few days that they had been in Brokilon her sister had spent most of her time with the he-elf. She wanted to warn her of him. But warn her of what exactly? After the events with the witch hunters she was surprised how quickly Iespeth returned to her jovial, sweet self. She attributed it to the affectionate way the elves -in particular Yaevinn- treated her. The thought creeped into her mind of course. What if she wants to stay with them? She became nauseated at the thought at Iespeth continuing with this band of elves while she went on to Toussaint, yet is truly was a plausible outcome.

She turned to Eithné. “Why have you shown me all this?”

“To help you.”

“Help me do what?”

“Help you to ask the question you fear to ask.”

Ciri's furrowed her brow. “They say you have the powers of prophesy? Is that true?”

“It is, child.”

“Have you seen this future for the dryads or is everything you just told me some vague hope.”

Eithné smiled. “I have seen it,” she answered quaintly. “I'd not have begun such extreme measures on a whim.”

“Then, perhaps you have seen other images in the Water?” she asked, looking down upon Iespeth.

“I see many things.”

“What have you seen for the elves?”

She looked down upon the sister-elf of the Child Surprise and her raven-haired companion.

“When I look into the Waters and ask for the fate of the elves, I see a black moon set on a red sky. I see an ocean of fire surrounding an island of white light. I feel pain and destruction. I cannot be sure what it means for certain, yet I fear the elves shall soon be no more on the Continent.”

Ciri's heart sunk.

***

“Your eyes glitter like a meadow of new green grass in spring. Have you ever been told how beautiful they are?”

Iespeth blushed and tried to hide her smile behind her shoulder. She'd never been called beautiful before, but she liked how it made her feel.

Yaevinn took her hand in his, holding it close to his mouth. She could feel his breath on her knuckles. It happened again, whenever he touched her; her nipples became erect and she developed a peculiar tingling between her legs. She wish he would touch her more, but he always restricted himself to her cheek or hands.

“Come on. Let us enjoy the forest on such a night,” he said beckoning her away from where the festivities were to take place. The dryads had, according to Yaevinn, a very distinct and stodgy way of celebrating Belleteyn. A few of them had spent the whole day creating some sort of mural out of seeds which had probably taken weeks to gather. They would most likely conduct a long, drawn out ritual causing some of the seeds to sprout which they would then plant throughout Brokilon. There were of course other acts to take place, but he hadn't shared those with Iespeth.

They ran through the woods, Iespeth letting out the occasional gleeful giggle as they leaped over boughs and stones. Eventually they came upon a small brook snaking through the massive trees. They followed it for a while wondering where it might lead. The trees soon thinned out somewhat allowing the brook to surround a quaint, tucked away glade.

Iespeth could almost see the clearing through the leaves of the undergrowth and noticed something moving in the distance. She crept up curious as to what other wonders this forest perpetually steeped in magic had to hold. She moved a branch to the side to get a better view.

Two people -a man and a woman- lie naked on the forest floor, the one on top of the other. The man was thrusting his hips into her methodically as she lay there still.

Iespeth turned around Yaevinn giggling and giddy. “There are people having sex there in the clearing.”

“You jest,” he replied as he caught up to her.

“No really, look!” she commanded in a breathless whisper. She turned back to where the pair were coupling and realized they were both looking in her direction. Iespeth could now see the unmistakable scar running across Isengrim’s face and the clear beauty of the dark-haired Sirrse.

She stared longer than she knew was appropriate, confused as to this strange union. Yaevinn broke her quasi-trance when he placed both of his large, callused hands gently on her shoulders.

“Sorry,” Iespeth called out. They both looked at the pair of elves; an emotionless expression on the dryad and whimsical half-smile on the Wolf. Iespeth turned and grabbed Yaevinn’s hand dragging him with her as the both laughed.

Isengrim returned his attention back to Sirrse and resumed his business.

After reaching a safe enough distance, Iespeth stopped, her chest heaving. Perhaps there was something magic about May Eve, perhaps it was just the company, but she felt drunk with joy. She thought back to the scene they had just witnessed and wished Yaevinn would do that to her. She wished he would do the many things to her that she had read about.

“I didn’t realize the two cared for each other. The dryads just seem so devoid of emotion. But I guess, why else would you risk your life to save someone if not for love.”

“I highly doubt that,” he said in a tone making clear that it was not love that brought that interspecial union to fruition. “Did you save us out of love?”

“I suppose not,” Iespeth confessed. She didn't like to lie. He smiled at her letting her know he was not offended by her answer.

“Dryads save their love for the trees,” he continued. “They have a very limited use for men -elf or otherwise. But they do have a use for them. And now Sirsse is getting what she is owed.

“A payment in pleasure?”

“Not quite,” he said, looking at her with his eyebrows raised.

“Oh!” _It all makes sense now._ She thought back to when she touched Sirsse for the first time. She chuckled. “So she receives payment for having rescued him I presume?”

“Something like that.” He was now looking at her peculiarly.

Iespeth straightened herself up. This was the moment, her chance. “Well, seeing as how I rescued you as well, it's only fair that I too receive my payment is it not? But I prefer pleasure to procreation if you must know,” she said playfully with a coy smile. 

He raised an eyebrow, quizzically. She slunk back slightly wondering if she had been too forward and direct. Was it even appropriate to blatantly ask for such things?

“I mean, of course, well...could you, would you touch me like that?” she added with a hint of insecurity. Her heart pumped wildly as she waited for his answer.

Yaevinn took a step towards her and paused. He smiled through his pursed lips and began slowly unlacing his vest, taking out the string one hole at a time. As he let the leather garment drop he moved very close to Iespeth. She could smell his fragrance emitting from his chest and took a step closer. He began gently stroking her arm.

She placed a hand on his breast and rested the tip of her nose on his skin. 

He heard her deeply inhale and subsequently let out a feint whimper.

Iespeth took a step back and began taking off her vest as Yaevinn had done, slowly and methodically.

She moved back towards him and took his hand in hers. She didn’t even think and placed his hand on her breast which was taut with excitement. It seemed like it would feel good, so she did it.

He flicked her nipple with his thumb feeling his own immense arousal build. He grabbed her by the butt pulling her towards him and kissed her deeply. He could tell she’d never kissed someone considering how jarring and untargeted her tongue was, but he didn’t care. It excited him further.

The swelling and tingling was now more intense between her legs than she had ever experienced. She could feel an abundance of moisture permeating the fabric of her pants. She had to get them off. She fumbled and yanked at the offensive garment determined not to part from Yaevinn’s lips. Once her legs were free of her prison she yanked Yaevinn’s body closer to her roughly and wrapped her arms around his neck pressing his face harder to hers. She tried grinding her hips against him not able to reach the right angle. She was desperate for some sort of contact to soothe the burn.

Yaevinn had heard from the odd he-elf – bored of sex with she-elves - of human females being this enthusiastic . He understood their decision - sex with she-elves generally being very dull and often mind-numbingly ritualistic. Yet he never found human women attractive in the slightest to even consider such interaction with them. Yet this she-elf was so much like the humans in the stories.

As Iespeth continued to desperately rub against his member so determined for some semblance of relief, he felt sympathy for her plight as the desire for relief was building in himself as well. He tore himself away from her causing her to sigh.

“Would you lie down?” he asked. She did as he asked, lying down on her back the cool earth soothing her burning skin.

Yaevinn quickly rid himself of his trousers and lowered himself down onto her. He lingered over her for a bit, teasing her with his manhood as if to make a mockery of her urgency.

Iespeth felt his member tickling certain regions between her legs, yet every every time she moved her body towards it it was taken away. She’d had enough and grabbed his penis and with the help of a powerful leg around his buttocks and a bucking of her hips, put him inside her.

It caught him off guard. The few she-elves he had been with were always reserved and dull and had waited for him to please them, expected him to do things to them. He’d never been with such a proactive woman before and he liked it. It was sloppy, messy, erratic, unpredictable, enthusiastic, and completely and utterly arousing. Her vim and vigor furiously spurred him on, thrust after thrust.

Iespeth felt it necessary to keep him in her and the drive to encourage him to thrust deeper was overwhelming. Every time he pulled away she seemingly by instinct clenched him back into her loins with her strong thighs and legs which were wrapped around his back. Occasionally, she relented with her legs and instead met his thrusts with an arch of her spine and a lift of her butt. Often, the act brought her to shiver and convulse, which she found highly pleasurable.

They finished in grunts and moans with only the forest to hear. Yaevinn climbed off of Iespeth and layed down at her side. He offered her his arm so as to rest her head. 

The hoot of a horned owl could be heard in the distance, the sound carried well by the gentle breeze easing its way around the great forest. Iespeth looked up into the canopy as the boughs and branches swayed and glittered in the moonlight.

“Tell me, how do the elves celebrate May Eve?” she asked, her head tucked into Yaevinn's shoulder.

Yaevinn turned, smiling at her and stroked her cheek. “Just as we did. You take someone you care for and make love to them under an open sky and on the bare earth.”

Iespeth slid her hand across her chest, smearing the thin film of sweat across her breasts. She smiled so large she could feel her lips run over her gums.

“You really weren't raised among our people were you?” he teased.

“No.”

“Ah. So you grew up with humans?”

“Something like that,” she said, in a tone demonstrating her annoyance.

“I'm sorry, I did not realize it was a sensitive subject. If it pleases you, I'll leave it at rest. It's just that I know so little of you, yet I have told you much about myself.”

She felt she had to give him something, but she didn't care for lies. After all, she and Ciri would most likely be leaving soon and then it wouldn't matter whether she had given him a few crumbs of her known, short past.

“I suppose you're right,” she said, sitting up so that her back was to him. She pointed to her back.

“Do you see these scars?”

Yaevinn sat up and traced the long lines running from her shoulder to the small of her back.

“Can you guess how I got them?”

He pondered for a moment. What could leave such marks on her? Who might leave such marks on her? Every scar he had on himself was inflicted by a human. Sometimes torture, sometimes battle. It was always the same. That was the place he went. He hated humans. For every good one there was thirty bad ones and no way to tell them apart. They tricked, connived, lied, bred, maimed and killed. That was the dark place he dwelled. That was his worldly truth. Despite all that, he held his tongue.

“I couldn't say. Where did you get those scars?”

“I was running, in the woods. Running the Killer as the witchers call it. I trained with them at their fortress. I slipped in some mud and went tumbling straight into a patch of briars. Or brambleberries. Or blackberries, I can't rightly remember. They cut me, punished me for my clumsiness. Thinking back now it was actually kind of funny.” She chuckled.

Yaevinn held back his surprise at hearing she had trained with witchers. The vatt'gern had always been known for their secrecy and never shared their knowledge. Yet this she-elf had trained with them. _Curious._ He'd let her talk at her own pace and fortified his patience. “They suite you rather well, if I may say,” he said, running his fingers up and down her back.

That feeling was there again. That tingling sensation between her legs. She leaned in and placed a kiss on Yaevinn's lips. She looked down between his legs noticing his member had once again grown hard. She smirked delightfully.

“Again, then?” she asked, climbing slowly on top of him.

He placed his guiding hands on her hips and with a small tug, entered her. “Again,” he answered as she gasped.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I am super sorry for not having posted in so long. I stopped for a while because I got terrible morning sickness (yep, I'm pregnant) and I had a really hard time starting up again. Plus, pregnancy brain has made writing a bit of a challenge. I want to try to finish part 1 of The Traveler before the baby comes which is in mid-February. I am so thankful for everyone that has read this story and especially those who leave such nice comments. Now that I am back on the writing horse, I'll try not to get bucked off it! :D

He brushed a few pebbles off of a large collapsed stone with his finely stitched rose-tanned leather boot pondering the events that might have transpired. A portion of the castle was still standing yet most of it had collapsed. The base of the fortress containing runes which disrupted particular magical fields was still intact, making direct teleportation a bit of a challenge. Nevertheless, it was an obstacle easily overcome by the adroit sage.

Avallac’h had hit a dead end after Crookback Bog. He’d gone to the ruin of Fleapil and found only the remains of a fire. He had attempted to cast a spell of reminiscence, but the lack of any living creature, any insect, mouse or rat within the ruin resulted in nothing. At the time it didn't concern him. He had a sure and simple way of finding a certain someone who was either with Ciri or might know where she was. To Iespeth he had given a white rose, an illusion of his own making fashioned after the blooms of Shaerrawedd. And on that rose was his own blood. No location spell was made more simple than finding one's own blood. Alas, the spell led him back here, to Kaer Morhen.

_Before you can go forward you must go back._

He looked around the ruin noticing the scorched rubble and wondered if anything had survived the fire. The elven mage pricked his finger once more till a drop of blood emerged and spoke the words, this time with a different intonation so as to get a more precise, yet shorter-ranged sanguinus reading. An area of bricks glowed a refulgent hue of crimson showing him where to look. Avallac’h carefully stepped across the rubble towards the dim light.

He commanded the rocks to rise with a subtle movement of his hand. They hovered like pigeons unsure of where to land until the sage sent them flinging to the side with a wick of his fingers. There it was, the white rose. He picked it up and examined it. The petals were still as perky and the dew still seemingly as fresh as the day he had made it. The weight of the stones hadn't affected it in the slightest. He placed the flower into his pouch, his fingers brushing up against a wolf medallion necklace contained within. This he had found in a small box amongst Weavess' belongings in Crookback Bog and had known exactly who it belonged to.

He leaned against one of the few standing walls and pondered his next destination. He thought about where Zirael might go. If she were in trouble she would mostly likely seek out the Witcher Geralt, wherever he may be. The sorceress Yennefer would be another possible destination. Perhaps she needed no help. Perhaps she simply left Kaer Morhen and merely continued on the Path. He hardly had any leads and needed to seek out someone more in tune with this world. A seer.

***

Iespeth unstrung her new bow before she sat down in front of the fire. It was what the elves called a Cumaisc – presumably named after the Seidhe who invented it. The riser was actually made from a light metal and given a woody design. The bow string had been fashioned from specially prepared fibers instead of animal sinew and lacked the typical gamey smell. It had two sets of hickory limbs on both sides – one for ease of pulling and one for increased force. Apparently, only a few elven smiths could make such finery. It was a gift to her from Iorveth, though she felt guilty taking it. In truth it had been Kell'am's bow till he had fallen. “It will serve you better. A true elven bow should remain in the hands of one of our own instead of pawned off to some d'hoine for coin,” he had told her solemnly. “Besides, it was I who gave him that bow in the first place.”

 

The real gift though, was the instruction he gave her on how to use it. He showed her how to harness it's power using less strength. It took much longer now for her arms to tire. She was rather astonished as to how straight it shot, hitting its mark nearly every time. The trickiest part was learning to notch her arrow on the right rather than the left. After a while, pulling the arrow from her quiver to the rest now located on the right side became automized and she could shoot faster to boot.

The fire was a quaint little thing, made just large enough to cook the rabbits they had hunted, yet small enough not to be seen from afar. Iespeth could smell the fat dripping off the hares and her stomach rumbled. She was certain she heard a similar noise coming from her companions bellies as well. It would be the first bit of meat – more importantly _cooked meat_ – that they were to have since leaving Brokilon, for the cutting and burning of wood from their trees was strictly forbidden. They had subsided on pine nuts, elderberries, cowslip, chickweed and any other greens, berries or seeds the dryads had foraged. They had once offered the elves raw endrega flesh, but all declined. Tonight, however, would be different.

“So do you want me to tell the story or not?” asked Geäst.

“Not if it's another one where the punchline is a dwarf sitting on an arrow,” Oleander snarked.

“I said a story, not a joke,” Geäst retorted.

Guifre flashed a smirk, clearly amused.

The evenings were Iespeth's favorite moments with her elven friends. They told stories, recited poetry, shared tales and made jokes. Some were about the past. Some were about their experiences in various wars. Some seemed to be fairy tales and legends passed down from one generation to the next. And some were about dreams for the future. 

This night the stars burned strong and clear, their light unobstructed by that of the crescent moon. Iespeth noticed that Ciri always sat on the outside, often oiling her steel sword quietly listening, but never saying a word. She'd said very little since they left Brokilon. Iespeth almost got up to go to her but then Geäst began.

“The sun was once a young, beautiful woman bright and shiny as ever who lived in the east. Her hair shone of gold and her eyes burnt bright. Her brother, the moon, a comely man with hair of silver and eyes that sparkled, lived in the west.

The sun had a lover who would visit her every night in the dark of the moon to court her, leaving every morning before light. They would talk and talk and make love all night yet she could not see his face and knew not his name. One day she could no longer stand it and came up with a plan to find out who it was. The next time he came, as they were sitting there, she slyly dipped her hand into the cinders and ashes and rubbed her lovers face affectionately. ‘Your face is cold; you must have suffered from the wind,’ she told him, pretending to be sorry for him. 

The next night when the Moon came up in the sky, his face was covered in spots and his sister Sun knew it was her brother that had been visiting her. He was so ashamed to have her know that it was he that visited her, he tried his damnedest to keep away from her and stayed at the furthest end of the sky. Ever since, he tries to stay as far from her as possible and when he does sometimes have to come near her he makes himself as thin as a ribbon.

And that is why the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.”

The circle around the fire was silent, the flames casting dancing shadows on the faces of the elves.

Isengrim was the first to speak. “That’s it?”

“Well, yes,” Geäst admitted.

“And, your mother told you this when you were how old?” asked Olleander, as he adjusted his sitting.

Geäst dropped his shoulders and soured his face.

“Your mother told you the reason the sun and moon come out in the night and day, respectively of course, is because of incest?” questioned Isengrim as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with an already damp bandanna.

“Perhaps that was the point of the story.” Geäst vehemently contorted his eyebrows and tossed a twig onto the fire. “To teach about the dangers of mingling with your own blood.”

“Nonsense,” retorted Isengrim. “Which part even shows that incest is wrong? At which point does it explain.”

“Perhaps this story comes from a time when it was not understood exactly why incest is bad - that being, that the mixing of genetics cause defects to be exhibited doubley – so instead encourages its non-practice by depicting it as socially unacceptable.”

“What are you getting at Oleander?” asked Geäst.

“Many species, particularly intelligent ones, have practices that are beneficial to said species even if they don’t understand them. Today, it would be enough to explain to a child why we don’t intermingle with our own blood because of the danger of faulty genetic outcomes. Thousands of years ago, those who did not practice incest were more successful and culturally developed ways to discourage such acts, though without understanding the mechanism behind it. It's the natural progression of evolution.”

“I suppose that makes sense, from an anthropological stand point.”agreed Isengrim. “Except we know that elves were created, perfect as they are. We did not evolve from some lesser species.” 

“Yes, yes. But I've always wondered, if we didn't evolve then who created us?” pondered Geäst.

Iespeth smiled at the notion. Though she didn't know the origin of the elves, she found it tickling how much genetic material they shared with the humans. So much so that interspecies reproduction between the two was highly viable. She knew better though than to point this out and let the men continue their talk.

“Enough about this debate of evolution. We are discussing the story. Either way I say its rubbish to tell that story to a child. Its rubbish to not tell it why we do not practice incest and it is rubbish to anthropomorphize the sun and the moon as if they were elves. We understand exactly why the sun and the moon are in the locations they are, when they are. We know why the moon waxes and wanes. We know why there are longer days in summer and shorter days in the winter. We can even describe the sun's position with simple trigonometry. Why not spend time teaching a child that instead of wasting it spouting nonsense,” questioned Isengrim.

“Aye,” concurred a few others.

“Well, I can’t change what stories my mother told me when I was a lad, so what would you suggest?”

Iespeth sat there quietly listening to her fellow elves, observing them. She favored these discussions above all.

“I believe what Isengrim is suggesting is that in the future this story should not be told to children,” interjected Yaevinn.

“Then, Yaevinn, perhaps you would like to offer an alternative. We are always open to expanding our repertoire.” He stood up and jokingly bowed to the raven-haired elf.

“Here, here,” added Oleander. 

The other elves chimed and “ayed” in agreement. Yaevinn had a plethora of stories - not all of which were his own – and a particular knack for telling them. He stood up and moved closer to the fire so that his silhouette was visible to all.

“This is called Talaith and the Evil Witch.

No one in all of Tir ná Lia knew how to help Talaith remove the evil spell cast upon her brother. Overwhelming despair clouded her judgment and she went to see an old witch. She forgot the Sages’ warning that the old woman’s heart was black as pitch and foul as carrion crawling with maggots.  
The old witch lived in a cage in the wastes surrounded by poisonous vapors and venomous vipers and toads. Talaith went there, even though her pure heart cried out for her to turn back. As she approached the cave, she smelled an oder so terrible she almost fainted. She had no idea what it was – for she had never been near a human before. She overcame her disgust, thinking all the while about her brave brother, and asked the witch for help.  
“And what will you give me in return, my dear elf?” screeched the witch.”  
“Anything you ask.”  
“Give me your voice, my dear elf, and I’ll lift Leod’s curse.”  
Talaith thought about how she used to sing lullabies to her little brother and began to cry, but she gave the witch her beautiful voice all the same. The old woman grabbed it in her crooked talons like a small silver fish and tossed it to her cat.  
“No give me your hair, my dear elf! Only then will I lift your brother’s curse.”  
Talaith sobbed, but agreed, and the witch wove a thick net from her hair and hung it from the trees in order to catch birds.  
'Now give me your eyes, my dear elf, or I'll never lift Leod's curse.'  
Talaith loved her brother very much and so gave the witch her green eyes, and the witch sewed them onto her dirty dress like precious stones for ornaments. And she started to laugh. Only then did Talaith understand that the wtich would never lift Leod's curse and all her sacrifices had been for nothing. But she could no longer cry. Oh, how she regretted not having listened to the Sages, who tell so many tales of human treachery!  
Talaith was petrified with regret, but her pure heart continued beating. When the old woman bent over her book of spells, Talaith's green eyes read along with her and in this way Talaith learned it was the witch who had put the curse on her brother Leod. She read along with the witch further until she learned how to lift the curse. And so she caught fat robins with the net the witch had woven with her hair and fed them to the witch's cat. Purring with delight, the cat agreed to follow her back to Tir na Lia. There it told the Sages the whole story about Talaith's stolen voice, and they recognized that is was true.  
The evil spells cast on Leod and Talaith were reversed, and the evil witch was drawn and quartered.”

“Now there is a story for elven children,” said Oleander.

“Where is Tir ná Lia?” asked Sael.

“Why, it's a great city. A city far away,” stated Guifre, capturing everyone’s attention as he rarely spoke. “It is said to be the capitol of the Aen Elle. Many many years ago, we were one people. The Aen Undod. Then something happened and we split from each other: the Seidhe coming to the Continent and the Elle going to where they now reside. The sages say that one day the Aen Elle will return, taking us from this wretched place and will reunite the two lost tribes.”

“The sages you say? What sages? Do you even know any sage?” asked Sael.

Guifre shook his head. “But I have heard there is one in Dol Blathanna. She is a personal friend of the queen, quite frequently whispering in her ear.”

“Well sage or no sage, I say it's rubbish. It's stuff of nonsense! The Aen Elle don't exist. They never have and never will. That's why we fight here and now for what is ours,” stated Geäst.

The group was silent until Iespeth spoke up, the shadows of flames dancing across her honest face.

“But they do exist though.” All heads turned to her. “I've met one.”

“You've met one?” asked Isengrim incredulously.

“Yes. He called himself an Aen Saevherne.”

“A Knowing One.” Isengrim added. “And how can you be sure he was Aen Elle?”

“He was Aen Elle!” she insisted. “Avallac'h was his name.”

“What was he like, this Avallac'h?” asked Guifre with curiousity.

“Pompous. Not at all like any of you. He grimaced constantly. Stared frequently,” she answered.

“Well, what did he say? What did you talk about?” asked Geäst, full of curiosity.

“He didn't say much.”

“He must have said something,” added Sael.

Iespeth thought for a moment. Just as she was about to speak she heard the subtle change in the night songs of the birds. The other elves noticed her sudden cocking of her head and they too became alert.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered. As quick and silent as owls, the elves pulled their weapons and began to spread out without a word.

It didn't take long for the culprits to be found. A hunter and his son, who hadn't even been aware of the elves' presence, found themselves surrounded by blades and notched arrows.

“Please don't kill us. We mean no harm!” the hunter begged, as Isengrim tucked the edge of his steel up into the man’s neck.

“Intentional or no, you d'hoine always mean harm,” insisted Sael.

“Like a bird who thinks his shit doesn’t land on the ground,” quipped Isengrim in the Elder Speech.

The rest of the men laughed. The Iron Wolf’s blade cut slightly into the hunter’s neck as Oleander’s did the same to the boy’s. Drops of blood could be seen slowly dripping down his soft, beardless throat. The elves' cruel smiles could be seen gleaming despite the darkness.

“Stop!” came Iespeth’s voice from the night. “Why are you doing this? They’ve done nothing to us!”

The elves’ eyes flashed towards her.

“Yes, but they will. You of all people should know the dangers of humans,” stated Isengrim, first looking at Iorveth and then back at her.

“That one is just a child. Come now,” she retorted, “What harm could a shivering huntsman and his soft-faced son be to us?” She moved over to them and knelt down in front of the boy. She gently nudged Oleander’s blade away from his throat. “What brings you so deep into the woods particularly at this hour?”

The boy looked at his terrified father and then back at Iespeth. “My father was teaching me to hunt. I shot my first buck just in the hindquarters and it darted off. We tracked it deep into the wood. A powerful thing it was. It made it far. When we reached it though some beast had already gotten to it.”

“What kind of beast was it?” Iespeth asked.

“It was large. With horns like a ram. It roared so loud I could feel it in my bones. It chased us even further into the woods.”

“Probably a chort. More than likely it just wanted to chase you away from its kill,” Iespeth deduced.

“It was MY kill...”

“Did you try telling him that?” she said, smiling coyly. The other elves laughed and the boy grew still.

“Are you going to kill us?” he finally asked. Isengrim tightened his grip on the boys father as Iespeth rose a hand to him signaling him to be calm. Ciri watched from afar noticing for the first time a clear change in Iespeth’s manner. She seemed to command and was obeyed. Ciri found it rather curious.

“We just want to get out of here. We thought we'd wait till light and leave once we knew which way was North. We didn't even know you where here.” The fear in the boys voice was clear and tears were running down his cheeks.

Iespeth stood up. “You see? They mean us no harm. Just dumb luck brought them here. They are no threat to us. We should let them go. We can blindfold them and escort them away, but there is no point in killing them.”

“That's where you're wrong. They will go back and tell their whole village about us. Then these woods will be swarming with d'hoine.” He tugged the man by the ear. “Human, how much does one fetch for the head of an elf these days in the North?” The man was frozen with fear. Isengrim pulled harder. “How much?”

“100 crowns.”

Iespeth knew that they would fetch far more considering who her companions where. She looked around at the men whose smiles where so sinister. Even Yaevinn who she had found to always be so sweet and compassionate looked like a devil about to get what was due to him. 

“I say we cut their throats and be done with it!” Oleander said, never ceasing to smile.

As Oleander moved back to the boy, the dominating voice of Iorveth could be heard.“She's right. It isn't necessary. We'll tie them somewhere, blindfolded and with a sharp rock. By the time they cut through the ropes and make it back to their village we'll be long gone.”

“And if they open their mouths and word reaches some soldier what then? This place will be crawling with d'hoine. I say we oughtn't risk it,” interjected Geäst.

Iorveth turned toward the captives. “Tell me human,” he said raising the chin of the older man, “if we were to let you and your boy go, you wouldn't dare betray that kindness by telling those in your village would you? Hmm?”

The man nervously and quickly shook is head.

“Good lad.” He said smiling.

Isengrim placed his hand on Iorveth's shoulder and tugged. “A word.”

The two stepped out of earshot.

“Have you grown daft? Since when do you believe the word of d'hoine. He'll tell everyone he can once we free him. The d’hoine promise everything under the blade of a knife. Tsss.” Isengrim was pacing back and forth. “What’s happen to you, Iorveth? You’ve changed. I have never known you to shy away from killing...”

Iorveth put his hand around the back of Isengrim's neck and pulled his forehead to his. “Listen brother and listen carefully. This may seem trivial, but moments like this are what could change things.”

He glanced over at the young she-elf looking at the faces of the other elves pensively. “Do you remember what I told you a fortnight ago?” 

“Of course I remember. But I find taking orders from a “queen”, whose title was bestowed upon her by some Nilfgaardian bastards, to be nauseating. A queen who no less, traded our lives to keep her fancy throne...”

“And what would you have had her do? Continue to have all of us fight until every last Seidhe lies in the dirt? Whether her motives were personal or practical is irrelevant now. I want us to survive. I’m tired of doing the same thing over and over with no change. It is after all the definition of madness is it not?”

Isengrim murmured. Iorveth, not sure if it was in agreement, continued.

“Do you remember what Enid asked me to do? Do you know why? Do you know how important young Seidhe like that green-eyed beauty are to our people? Do you know how important it is that she and others like her come with us?” Iorveth looked into Isengrim's tired eyes. The look of contemplation was obvious on the Iron Wolf's face.

“So, she doesn't want us to kill those d'hoine. So, we don't kill them?” Isengrim haughtily asked.

“Precisely. Should they warn others, which they will, we will be long gone before they get here.”

“Women certainly do tend to have kinder hearts,” Isengrim stated. “And what about Cirilla? If Iespeth chooses to go with her instead of...”

“I think Yaevinn has seen to that. His words certainly have a way of touching the kinder hearts, even though he does not yet know of our plan,” Iorveth said with a chuckle. “Convincing him to give up living his life to kill d’hoine might be a challenge.”

“I must admit, it wasn’t easy for me to give up either,” Isengrim responded.

“Nor was it for I. Our anger and lust for vengeance must be redirected. It's important that we look to the future and think strategically my brother.”

Isengrim sighed and gave Iorveth an affectionate pat on the chest. They scuffled back over to the others.

“Tie them to that tree,” Isengrim commanded the men. Iespeth smiled.

***

A few nights later the group made camp on the southern side of the Yaruga after a rather grueling crossing.

Ciri sat apart from the elves as usual and watched as her sister bonded with her brethren. This night, however, her thoughts were particularly troubled. She knew the elves planned to head due south into the Marnadal Stairs, while she planned to go east and cut through the pass in the Amell Mountains to Toussaint. They might travel a few more days with Iespeth’s new friends, but it wouldn’t be long till she had to make a choice: Ciri or the elves. The truth was, Ciri wasn’t ready to let her sister go. 

She watched the Seidhe begin their evening ritual of starting a small fire, rubbing whatever game they caught with herbs, and sit down to share stories of their long lives. Frequently, Yaevinn and Iespeth went off for a time alone and would join the group later. This night was no different. She watched Iespeth giggle as Yaevinn pawed at her backside. They teased each other back and forth as the dark-haired elf grabbed a rolled up fur and they walked off into the darkness.

“A warm night is it not?”

The voice startled her, tearing her away from her thoughts. She snapped her eyes towards the one-eyed elf now standing at her side.

“Would you care to join me for a walk? I find a slow jaunt to be refreshing in such muggy air.”

“I suppose I could hardly say no,” Ciri replied as she stood up.

“I apologize for the lack of hospitality we have shown you. I can’t imagine it’s been easy for you these few weeks.”

“No, not at all. There is nothing more pleasant than being ignored for days on end,” Ciri sarcastically quipped.

“Many of us find it difficult to be around humans. After years of being betrayed by them can you blame us?”

Ciri snorted.

“There was one human I found quite honorable once. Though it has been quite a few years. In truth, he wasn’t really a human, but a witcher. Have you ever met a witcher, Cirena?”

Ciri looked off into the trees coyly. “I can’t say that I have.”

“He carried two swords as is their custom. One of steel and one of copper, I believe.” Iorveth looked carefully at Ciri who was pursing her lips as if wanting to say something. “And his eyes resembled that of a...hawk?” The tension in Ciris face was visible as if she wanted to correct him.

Iorveth smiled. “His name was Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.” He paused for a bit. “Once. Only once, he told me about his daughter. A girl of ashen hair, emerald-eyes and a scar under her left eye.”

Ciri looked at him abashed.

“A human is easy to fool, but we Seidhe are not so simple. Despite your elven features you don’t seem like the daughter of a Seidhe whore. I wasn’t sure at first until Isengrim confirmed who I thought you were, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, The Lion Cub of Cintra.

Ciri looked at him contemptuously. “I don’t go by that title any more and I haven’t for a long time.”

“Fair enough,” Iorveth replied.

“And what do you plan to do with this information? Ransom me to Geralt?” she said haughtily.

Iorveth let out a singular laugh. “Not in the slightest. It’s this connection that has made it possible for us to tolerate your presence in the first place.”

“Well, don’t I feel honored,” Ciri said.

“There is of course another connection I and my comrades have been quite curious about. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. I am aware that humans are quite the promiscuous creatures. Perhaps your father dallied around with some Seidhe maid. Perhaps your mother had a love affair with an elven man and when the child came out with pointed ears the child was quietly swept away. Of course the thought did occur that she is some distant ancestor, but as we all know your ancestor, Lara Dorren, had one child and one child only. And that line stayed with the humans. Most likely Iespeth just happens to look like you and it was convenient for you to lie and say you were sisters. As much as I would love to know this connection between you two, I doubt you or she will tell me the truth, so I suppose it is irrelevant digging further.”

Ciri looked at him queerly. “So, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about then if not what Iespeth and I are to each other?”

“Yaevinn tells me that you two intend to travel to Toussaint. As you are aware my commando and I plan to travel due South. I am hoping Iespeth will come with us.”

“And why would you wish to talk to me about it? Why not Iespeth?”

“It is clear that she is very attached to you as if you two truly were sisters. I believe one word for you might make her decision.”

“And why would I encourage her to go with you? Living a life in some small group of the most wanted elves in the North, constantly on the move? Oh yes, I know precisely who you are too. I’ll never forget Isengrim’s scar and grasping hands as I escaped out a window on the Isle of Thaenedd. I know the stories of the Battle of Vergen and the renowned terrorist Iorveth. So what reason do you think that I would allow Iespeth to go alone with the likes of you and your men? I suppose it’s not worth asking anyway, honesty is not really a facet of your species.”

“That’s unfortunate. But I shall still be honest with you for what it’s worth. You can take this information or leave it. We aren’t just going south for the sake of going south. I have it on good authority that there is a group of Seidhe living in the mountains near the coast. A group of about 50 men and women living in self exile if you will. I plan to find them and bring them to Dol Blathanna. You see, the Aen Seidhe’s population is dwindling and with many of us scattered to the wind….well, it’s best we all be together.”

Iorveth put his hands behind his back, clasping his fingers together and took a step away from Ciri. “She is Seidhe. She is one of us. I would never force her to come. It must be her choice. You know that. There was a time when I might have felt differently, but, Ayd f’aell moen Hirjeth taenverde.”

“Conquer with courage rather than strength,” she repeated after him.

Iorveth nodded. “I hope you will do the right thing.”

****

Iespeth left her breasts uncovered after Yaevinn rolled off her. She enjoyed the cool dusk air whisking away the sweat on her bare skin. The two lay next to each other, chests heaving after such a pleasurable act.

Yaevinn turned to Iespeth, her emerald eyes seemingly glowing in the dim of the evening.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about.”

“Hmm? And what would that be?” Iespeth asked, blissfully smiling.

“I want you to come with us...with me.”

Iespeth propped herself up on her elbows. “And where would we go?”

“Anywhere! Everywhere! Where ever the scent of battle takes us!”

“I’m...I’m not sure that I can.” Iespeth knew that the moment would come where she would have to make a decision, but she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to part with Ciri. It seemed to her as if Yaevinn was reading her thoughts.

“You don’t belong with a human. You suffocate in the shackles placed upon you by the human oppressors. You belong with your own people. You know her kind will never accept you,” Yaevinn replied clearly annoyed.

Iespeth looked at him warily, having never before seen such insistence.

Yaevinn stood up and put on his trousers, abruptly. He leaned against a tree, his long raven hair billowing over his back.

“Do you not wish for freedom?” he asked.

Iespeth remained silent. Ciri often spoke of freedom. Coming and going as she pleased. It seemed like such a desirable thing. But was it freedom that Yaevinn was truly after? Or some perverted version of it. The truth was she longed to go with him, but something kept her from committing. She watched him study her, as if contemplating his next convincing words.

“Aelirenn. Do you know the story of Aelirenn? The White Rose of Shaerrawedd? Known to dwarves and humans as Elirena? Two centuries ago she led the elven youth into battle. Our elders were against it knowing that success was out of reach, knowing that we might not recover from defeat. Aelirenn, the White Rose. She roused the youths to battle. They grabbed their arms and followed her into their last, desperate fight. They were massacred. Mercilessly. They died saying her name, repeating her call, her cry. They died for Shaerrawedd and for Aelirenn. Just as she had promised, with dignity, heroically, with honor.”

She had heard this story before, yet presented much differently. While Yaevinn told it proudly to provoke anger and encourage a rise to action, Avallac’h had shared it as a tale of caution the very first day she had met him. 

“They fought proudly and stupidly and they died,” Iespeth finally replied, quoting the sage’s own words.

“We fought for honor! Our elders gave them everything! They left our pride, our culture behind only for humans to build atop our legacy! The d’hoine took everything from us!” Yaevinn seemed near tears, as if her words had brought up an old shame he had never shed himself of. He breathed deeply, composing himself. “Come with me, Iespeth. Get away from your prison.”

Iespeth felt hardened. “You don’t seek freedom, you seek death,” she said coldly.

“An honorable death is the only true freedom.”

“No.” And with that, she picked up her clothes and left.

 

***

“Ciri.”

Ciri wasn’t sure if she had actually heard it. A mosquito near her ear, or the remnants of a dream she mightn’t remember.

“Ciri! Wake up.”

Ciri lurched up.

“Shh. It’s me.”

“Iespeth? What’s wrong? Are we...”

“Everything’s fine. Just listen to me. We have to leave. Here, here is your sword. I have our things gathered, but we have to leave now.”

“What’s going on?”

“Please, Ciri. Just trust me. We have to leave now. I will explain later.”

They made their way past the sleeping elves and out into the dark of night. It wasn’t until the moon reached its apex that they found their way into a small tavern of a random village.

“So, do you mind telling me what that was all about?” Ciri asked, as she placed two tankards of ale onto the table where they were sitting.

Iespeth thumbed the rim of her mug, smearing off the bit of foam toppling over the side.

“Did something happen between you and Yaevinn?”

Iespeth snorted.

“I take it you’d rather not talk about it,” Ciri, taking a deep gulp of her beverage.

“It’s the first time I really felt wanted though, like a true and equal member of a group. I mean, I know you care about me. Deeply, but I don’t know.”

“Then why didn’t you go with them?”

Iespeth looked down. It took Ciri a moment to realize she was weeping.

“Iespeth. Iespeth it’s ok,” Ciri said, as she lifted Iespeth’s chin and wiped away the tears.

“He...they wanted to fight and die for ‘freedom’. They are fighting for a world that no longer exists and I couldn’t follow them because survival is what matters. Life is what matters! Fuck ideology!” she said slamming her fist on the table. “He doesn’t understand. None of them understand this!”

Ciri’s heart began to race. She remembered Iorveth’s words. What the old elf had told her their plan was. His plan was not to fight and die, but fight and live. She could have told Iespeth about Dol Blathannna, the country of elves to the east. She could have told her that was where Iorveth had planned to lead them all. But what about the words of the Eithné? _I fear the elves shall soon be no more on the Continent._ If the Silver Lady’s words were true, she would be sending Iespeth to her death. But prophesy was such a fickle mistress. She rationalized this as a good reason not to tell Iespeth and held her tongue.

“What’s wrong?” Iespeth asked, noticing Ciri’s increased rate of breathing.

“Oh, just...I was worried you had attracted attention. That’s all.”

“Listen, I know you weren’t fond of Yaevinn, or the others. And I know they didn’t treat you all that well either. Though if you’da heard some of their stories about humans, I can’t say I blame them for not being fond of them. I honestly kept waiting for the day to come for you to tell me I had to leave them. But you didn’t. You stuck out those few weeks even though it must’ve been unpleasant for you. You gave me that choice. You let me have all the information and let me decide for myself. I am thankful for that, truly.”

Ciri’s throat tightened with guilt. “Oh, you needn’t thank me. Really.” She hid her face behind a tipped tankard, pouring the contents down her throat. Iespeth smiled at her.

Before they got up to pay they overheard a few patrons at a table just behind them.

“Did ya hear? A hunter and his lad got set upon by Squirrels!”

“Get off! There ain’t no Squirrels to be had no more. Theys was all killed off in the war!”

“Naw, ya donk! O’course they’re not all dead. Squirrels is sneaky like that. They have a knack for duckin’ out at the right time and next thing ya know theys holdin an arrow to some poor blokes. That pellar comes through here said he passes through Cochran on his trade route and last he heard some hunter got captured by elves. Came hollerin’ about the knife-ears threatenin to cut his and boy’s throats. Can’t be nothin’ but Squirrels. Though how they got away no one knows. It ain’t like Squirrels to be merciful. They musta escaped. To bad for them, there ain’t no soldiers to be had till the border.”

Iespeth pulled her hood snugly over her head, snorted once and spat in her empty tankard. “Bloede d’hoine,” Ciri heard her say as she plopped a few coppers on the table. They grabbed their things and went to the room they had booked till morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of "Talaith and the Evil Witch" was taken directly from a book found in The Witcher 3.


	28. Chapter 28

Avallac'h bowed low to Eithńe of Brokilon. It was customary for guests to treat the venerable lady with the greatest of respect. An ancient being filled with ages of knowledge as well as her abilities as a seer where well-known in the world of non-humans.

Yet Avallac'h was more than known to the venerable Lady as well, and not as some mediocre elf or trite sorcerer. He was Aen Saeverhne of the Aen Elle. The Silver Lady mirrored his bow, her long silver hair trickling off her shoulders like water as she payed her respect. The very few, oldest dryads understood, yet the vast majority were young, never having seen someone to which their queen exhibited such a display of obeisance. The audience chamber erupted with hisses of whispers until Eithńe halted the noise with a gesture of her delicate hand.

“Welcome, Fox. It has been some time. Quite some time.” The sides of her mouth slightly curled upwards to form the subtlest of smiles.

“Indeed it has.” He smiled genuinely pleased to see her.

Avallac'h looked around at the curious faces and inquisitive eyes. He could tell few were born of dryad blood. Most had clearly once been human girls, left to the woods of Brokilon by their own parents and had been made dryad by drinking the Water of Brokilon, mutated and changed forever.

“Please, sit,” Eithné bade him and gestured towards a limb that had been grown and fashioned into a seat.

“That is very kind of you.”

A beautiful dryad brown of hair brought him a cup fashioned out of rich, black clay and filled it with fresh, bubbling water from the natural springs that flowed under the forest. As Avallac’h took the beverage he noticed the dryad’s slightly extended belly. The sight of it tickled him.

“Forgive my curiosity, but how far along?” the sage asked. Though normally not so forward, he felt more candid with the dryads, their culture being one of straightforwardness to point of being seen as rude to many who were not accustomed.

She studied his face and turned to her Lady.

“Sirssa begins her third moon tonight. We tend to show much sooner than humans or the Folk,” Eithné replied.

“I am aware,” he replied.

The brown-haired dryad reached her hand out inviting Avallac’h to give her his. She placed his palm on her abdomen and let him feel. The sage sent out the tiniest of pulses and smiled once he felt the life growing in her womb. His demeanor changed in the slightest to one of sorrow when realizing he could scarcely remember last he saw a woman of an Elder Race with child. He took his hand away and looked on towards the Silver-Eyed.

She waited patiently for him to speak. He placed his hands together on his lap and took a breath. His reason for being there and request could wait. The old sage first wished for an intellectual conversation of equals after having traveled for so long in isolation. After all, knowledge was to be shared with equals was it not?

“A short time ago I was in the resting place of Fleapil. I had cast a spell of reminiscence to which I received no reply, considering the lack of living creatures of lesser intelligence in the area. Strange. Though not entirely uncommon. Shortly after, for reasons of comfort, I vacated the room of all humidity and it was then that I noticed the most peculiar thing. I could feel the tiniest of sparks, almost imperceivable, of what I thought may have been electricity, until I expulsed the excess neontangel magnetism. I believe it may have been some form of galactial energy and I’ve been pondering the implications of this since that night. Since then I’ve tried to replicate this effect to no avail until I arrived at Kaer Morhen.”

Eithńe listened carefully, intrigued by his observation, however seemingly minuscule it might be. Most sorcerers would find such a piece of information uninteresting and irrelevant. Others would only ask if it could help them make a larger fireball or something of a similar nature. It was such small observations and ruminations thereof like this that made Avallac’h, herself and a few others the true pioneers in the fields of magic.

They supped on an elaborate display of nuts, berries, fruits and greens and spoke in depth of Avallac’h’s observation that night. It was shortly before dawn, once the stridulations of the crickets had ceased, long after all the dryads had gone to slumber, did the two realize the hour.

“Lady Eithńe, I of course relish in such conversation, but as you must know I did not come here to explore magical theory. I have something to ask of you,” Avallac’h informed her.

“One not be a seer to know as much,” she stated, caressing a pendulous frond hanging down from the tree limb ceiling. “You seek the seed that burst into flames do you not?”

“I do.”

“It now seems it was no coincidence that she may appear in my wood.”

Avallac'h found it curious to learn that Ciri had passed through Brokilon, but he held his tongue.

“Fate certainly has its way,” Eithńe continued. “Though I thought it might of course be pure circumstance that of all humans to show up with a pack of elves seeking refuge, it might be her.”

Avallac'h thought to ask if a certain she-elf might’ve been among them, but he thought better of it. A small infatuation with a Seidhe who held similarities to Lara Dorren was hardly of importance. Yet, the thought always lingered in his mind.

“I felt her ‘call’, if you will, from across the vastness of space. I’ve followed as best I could, yet it is simply coincidence that I come here.”

“And why should her movement be of interest you? Why would you perceive it as a call?”

He remarked silently on the Lady’s wisdom and perception. The sage knew he could trust her which was why he was greatly honest with her. He told her of his dream. He told her he believed he would be summoned by fate a third time and a gift would be given. Though what gift that might be, he wasn’t sure. He told the Lady how next time he would be prepared which was why it was imperative that he find the Elder Blood. And, though difficult for him to admit, he told her he had in fact come to care for Zirael in his own way.

The Silver-Eyed pondered all he had said, his dream, the premonition, the prophetic message behind it. She had no answer for him. Such premonitions were never clear and required deep thought.

“I do not ask this lightly, but I ask that you perform the Atebian Fréim’he,” the sage finally requested.

The Silver-Eyed sighed. “I would never presume that you would ask such a thing of me lightly, for such a ritual is certainly not light to perform. Which is why what I shall ask for in return shall not be asked lightly of you. My daughter Morénn is gone. I long for another true daughter of my own. Yet even the oldest Seidhe who pass through here seeking shelter hold no appeal to me and the humans disgust me to greatly to allow one to touch me. I ask that you lay with me.”

“I would of course oblige,” he said with reluctantly, “but I cannot be certain the endeavor shall be fruitful,” he warned. 

The Aen Elle had not produced a child in centuries with not a hint as to why. Many theories had been put forth, yet none seemed truly plausible. Though Avallac’h himself had never tried to have children, his numerable experiments in the selective breeding of the Alder Folk convinced him of the truth of their barrenness. This slow death of his kind was a mystery, if left unsolved would bring forth the end of their existence.

“Lay with me, nevertheless,” Eithńe said, this time in a slightly more commanding tone, “and fate shall decide if it is to be. Tomorrow, when the sun shines brightest on the tree tops we shall perform the Atebian Fréim’he.”

“Thank you,” Avallac’h said with a nod and slowly began undoing his robes as Eithńe closed the hide curtain to the chamber.

A day later the Atebian Fréim’he, The Ritual of Roots was begun. Eithńe lie naked in a small chamber, most accurately described by a layman as a hole in the ground underneath The Great Oak. Avallac’h sat at her head ready to cast a spell of telepathy so he would be able to see the results more accurately than if only told. He would of course feel some of the pain that the Lady would undergo though to a lesser extent. Surrounding the two were various clay bowls with an assortment of burning herbal concoctions that a few of the older dryads had prepared. Next to the entrance was the rotting carcass of a deer that had been freshly caught that morn. The dryads had accelerated the decaying process so as to facilitate the ritual. It smelled absolutely putrid, yet deterred the sage not in the slightest.

As the last two dryads left the small chamber the ritual began. Avallac’h could feel the scent of magic being summoned by Eithńe and channeled into the ground. He breathed deeply and cast the spell of telepathy. Though he knew of this ritual in theory, it was not one he had participated in, seeing that elves’ biology made such a feat hardly feasible. He was not entirely sure of what to expect and listened carefully.

As the magical energies began to saturate the earth around them, small, brown roots began to sprout from the ground. They poked and prodded at Eithńe’s skin finding even the thinnest of veins and arteries. The sage watched the old dryad force herself to hold still as the roots pierced her skin and made their way into her body. He cringed just feeling an ounce of her agony while she mingled her flesh and blood with the forest. It began as a high pitched hum, developing into a scream. _The trees, they are talking._ Louder and louder it became until he wasn’t sure if he could hold on. He focused harder, determined to stay with it. Slowly his vision whitened and his view of the Lady was no longer there. The unbearable screaming began to form a picture, if sound could really do such a thing. _Before you hear the whispers of the leaves you must first listen to the trees scream._

Avallac'h saw a glen, and felt the deepness of the forest. He experienced the tightness of mountains surrounding the trees like a mother’s womb encompasses a child. He could perceive a pair footsteps on the ground, vibrating the earth around the tangled roots under those booted feet. He sensed the location; loose coordinates. As he opened his eyes he saw the roots slowly retracting from the ancient dryad’s body.

Her breathing was visible and she looked up at him. Her eyes were rheumy and tired, yet she looked as if she wanted to say something to him. Avallac'h leaned down so she would have to exert herself as little as possible.

“You know where she is. It is now time you go to her.”

The sage bent down further and gave her a solicitous kiss on the forehead. “Thank you,” he said.

As he left the chamber he told the dryads to go to their Lady as she would need their help. He opened a portal and left for the Amell Mountains.

The dryads carried their Lady to her chambers and layed her down to rest. The ritual had been so taxing that she immediately fell into a slumber.

The moon was black, set on a red sky and the sea around the island was aflame as it was every instance she had this dream. The prophesy telling of the Seidhe’s demise. She saw the white light again, blinding in the center surrounded by elves. Perhaps it was because of the ritual she had performed earlier causing her to be more in tune with this world, that this time the light began to ravel and flow and wind until a face began to form. The face, she knew that face. Had seen it before. Those eyes, the emerald eyes. But it wasn’t the seed that had burst into flames. It wasn’t Zirael, the Lady of Time and Space. The other. The elf. Could it? It couldn’t be. But it was. The light flowed through her and around her and she was its source. The power. Such power. It was her. It was her that would end the existence of Seidhe on the Continent. It was too late. Avallac'h was the last of the Folk that Eithńe would ever see in her Wood. When she woke she reached down to rub her belly, comforting herself.

***

Iespeth had been a bit more quiet ever since they had abruptly left the commando of Scoia’tael, so it surprised Ciri when she began to speak.

“Where exactly are we going?” she pointedly asked.

“We are going to see some people very dear to me. My parents, as some might describe them.”

“So they are humans?”

“I suppose that is a question of definition,” Ciri replied.

“Witchers then?”

“One is. The other, Yennefer is a sorceress.”

“Is that so? For someone who has such a distrust of sorceresses, you certainly seem to have a few dear to you,” Iespeth remarked snidely.

Ciri wanted to snap back, but wasn’t sure what the point would be. Iespeth was in pain and Ciri was the only one there for her to take it out on.

“Yenna is different. She would and has risked her life for me. As has Geralt. I trust them more than anyone.”

“More than me?”

Ciri took pause. “That’s quite a question. It’s different with you. We have a different relationship.”

Iespeth scoffed. “I trust you more than anyone. If that means anything to you.”

“Iespeth, I know you’re hurting. But I didn’t make you leave. You are the one who made us...”

“Shh!” she snapped. “Do you hear that?”

Ciri stopped sorting through her pack and listened. “I hear nothing.”

“No. It’s not so much with the ears. Do you feel that? It’s like a tingling...I can’t quite describe it.”

Ciri held still trying to _feel_ whatever Iespeth was talking about. Iespeth ran up to one the trees and placed her hand on it.

“It’s stronger here! Come here!”

Ciri ran over and placed her hand on the tree. “I feel nothing. Iespeth, are you sure? Maybe you might want to get some extra sleep tonight. It’s been a long...”

“Shut up! I’m not tired. How can you not feel that?” Iespeth held still. The feeling slowly subsided, yet she continued to grope the trees. A few moments later the reverberation of a portal reached her. Someone had been conducting powerful magic and had now teleported to the vicinity. She was bound and determined to find out who and show Ciri she was right. She strung her Cumaisc and strapped her quiver of arrows onto her back.

“Oh Iespeth, really? There is nothing out there.”

“And if there is? I’m going to find it. What will you give me when I do?”

“If. _If_ you do! Well, as you can I see I have little to give, but I will admit I was wrong.”

Iespeth smiled at her. “I suppose that’s all I can ask.” She began to walk out of the glen.

“Iespeth?” Ciri called out to her. Iespeth paused and turned around. “If you find a hare or something, bring it back for supper will you?”

“Don’t I always?” Iespeth let out a singular chuckle and began her hunt.

***

Avallac'h stepped out of the portal gingerly. The location of his arrival was clearly not precisely the one he had seen during the Atebian Fréim’he, the Ritual of Roots, but he was close. He could feel it. Not a meter away from where his portal had opened did he sit down to begin his short range search. He began to channel the magical energy and whispered into his closed fist. When he opened it a large grey moth took flight from his palm. Avallac'h kept his eyes closed to steer the creature into the forest searching for the Lady of Time and Space, whose “call” had brought him to the Continent in the first place.

Twenty minutes in, he finally saw the exact place of the ritual. He felt the antennae of his creation vibrate in the wind and heard the leaves of the trees rustle in the breeze as if to whisper that this was the place he sought. He changed the angle of his creatures wings to look around the glen. There she was, Zirael, sitting in front of a small fire adjusting the leather straps of a scabbard which housed her steal sword. Avallac'h felt only a moment of relief having found her, yet he couldn’t enjoy this feeling for long. He saw no sign of the emerald-eyed she-elf who so much resembled his long dead love. Perhaps they had parted ways. Or worse, perhaps she had died during whatever had happened at Kaer Morhen. The sage tried to remain at a feeling of disappointment at the she-elf’s absence but still a bit of sorrow began to creep in.

“Don’t move mage!” he heard spoken slowly and sternly from behind him. His eyes snapped open as he broke off his spell. He almost smiled when he realized whose voice it belonged to and then quickly composed himself.

“I’ll have you know this arrow is nocked and ready to loose, so if you try anything it’ll hit the back of your neck before you can cast. Now, get up and turn around slowly,” Iespeth commanded.

Avallac'h rose and turned towards the she-elf. He took off his hood and looked into her eyes.

“Oh. It’s you,” she said, lowering her bow. “I never thought I would ever see you again.”

“Ceádmil, Iespeth,” replied the sage. He searched her face for any sign of pleasure of him being here yet she betrayed nothing. His eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her neck and then the small amount of breast peaking out the sides of her vest. Her skin shone with sweat. She certainly had less fat on her, yet her muscles, sinewy and strong, were much more developed than when he last saw her. Avallac'h eyes fixated on the star-shaped scar on her shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” she asked feeling his eyes on her shoulder, readjusted her vest so as to cover up her scar.

“I could ask you the same thing. Curious that you should show up at such an arbitrary location.”

And there it was. The haughty attitude that he often exuded. Iespeth wasn’t sure how to answer. She didn’t want to admit that she felt his portal open. He was a mage after all.

“I was hunting for supper,” she partially fibbed. “I’ll just assume you are looking for Ciri and take you to her,” she said curtly.

She unstrung her bow and began walking back towards where Ciri was making camp.

“I'm curious, why did you leave the white rose? It was a gift after all,” Avallac'h after a long bit of silence.

Iespeth thought for a while trying to come up with a suitable lie. She settled on telling him the truth being aware enough that throwing away a gift could be considered rude. But she didn't care for lies. And she cared little for what this man considered offensive or not. “It was a question of practicality. I saw no use for it,” she blurted out lackadaisically.

Avallac'h was hurt by her answer, but didn't want to admit to himself as to why. He relaxed his face making certain to seem unaffected.

“If you must know,” she continued, “we were in a bit of a hurry, being under attack and all. After I dropped the rose back into the chest I was shot. Right here.” She pulled away her vest revealing the star-burst scar just above her right breast. When she touched the scarred tissue she felt for a moment the pain she had gone through and closed her vest shuddering. _If you hadn't given me the rose, I might have been paying better attention and would not have been shot._ The thought was irrational, but as she was already not fond of the elven sage, she found it easy to blame him for something he had had no control over.

“I imagine it must have been painful,” he stated as he sauntered along behind her.

“Yes. Yes, it was,” she said with a hint of aggression in her tone.

“If you had had the rose, I could have found you sooner. Healing such a wound would have been a trifle. Perhaps it would be wise to keep this around for the future,” he instructed, pulling the white rose out of one of his many pouches and handing it to her. He realized in his effort to sound impressive, he had given her reason to be angered.

She looked at it spinning in his thumb and forefinger. “And why couldn't you have told me that in the first place? How does the spell work? Are you able to track your own magic or was it your blood on the thorn? Forgive me. I'm just a _simple_ Aen Seidhe and have little knowledge of how most magic works, yet I find it very suspicious that you would give something to someone you had just met with the intention to spy on them.”

“It was merely a means to locate you. In the future, if you and Zirael needed assistance...”

“ _Ciri_ and I get along just fine without you,” she tossed the rose demonstratively and continued briskly walking.

He sighed and shook his head feeling she had been unreasonable. He trailed along behind her after retrieving the rose till they reached the camp.

“Look who I found lurking around,” Iespeth called out to Ciri as they stepped into the glen.

“Avallac’h?” Ciri asked confused.

“Hello, Zirael.”

Iespeth eyed him skeptically.

“You’re the last person I’d expect to find here in the Amell basin,” Ciri replied.

Avallac'h raised his head and admired the glen. “I thought perhaps it would be nice to visit an old...or should I say ‘young’ friend.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Iespeth, would you mind chasing down something for us for supper?” She knew speaking alone with the sage was the only chance she might have at a frank answer. And even that chance was slim.

“Why can’t the mage do it?” Iespeth replied haughtily. “I’m sure he has some spell that just causes some game to walk right through our camp. Maybe one the makes an animal kill itself and hang itself over a fire also conjured by magic.”

“Oh, young Seidhe. There is so much more to magic than conjuring fire.”

Ciri could sense Iespeth’s annoyance. She hated her youth and experience being alluded to derogatorily. “Iespeth. Please!” she said sternly.

Iespeth gathered her already strung bow and slung her quiver of arrows over her back. She slipped off into the woods with a scowl on her face.

“She has changed since her time at Kaer Morhen?” Avallac'h asked, nodding in the direction that Iespeth had left.

“Things haven’t been easy since Kaer Morhen.”

“Hmmm,” Avallac'h replied as he pressed his finger to his cheek. “How so?”

“It’s always the same isn’t it? You want information without giving any. And you only give it once pressed. So now, I want to know why you are here? Why have you just popped up in the middle of the forest? I doubt you wished for a friendly chat. There are much more interesting conversation partners for you in Tir ná Lia are there not? Maondine certainly comes to mind!”

“Oh yes, that Elder Blood certainly can be fiery.”

Ciri scoffed and pursed her lips angrily.

“I sensed your departure from Kaer Morhen. I was curious as to why you might leave the only place you have ever considered home so hastily. When I finally arrived and saw the ruined remains of the witcher’s fortress I feared the worst. I found something there that belong to you. Something I assume you did not leave behind on purpose.”

He began undoing a sheathed sword hung around his waist. Ciri knew immediately what it was. He handed it to her. She pulled her silver sword from its sheath with a zing. Tears formed in her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She examined one of her most treasured gifts.

“Dubhenn haern am glâdeal, morc’h am fhean aiesin,” the sage spoke aloud causing the ruins to glow.

“The flash that cuts through darkness, the light that breaks the night,” Ciri repeated in the common tongue, her voice stuttering. “A gift from Geralt.”

“And a fine gift it was. With no business deteriorating in a ruin.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Avallac'h,” she was able to choke out.

“I have something else that I believe belongs to you. Ciri cocked her head, curious as to what he else might have. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a wolves head medallion on a silver chain.

Ciri’s breath caught in her throat. “That was...that was Vesemir’s. How did you…?”

“It is no longer of concern.”

She deduced that he meant the crone, Weavess, was no longer of concern. He gently placed the bauble in the palm of her outstretched hand. Ciri clutched it to her breast for a moment before unraveling the chain and putting it around her neck.

“Avallac’h? Why would you…? I have never known you to give such care for material things. Why would you travel to bring me my most precious possessions.”

_Before you can give that which is yours, you must give twice that which isn't. Avallac'h decided to keep the crone’s soothesaying to himself._

“In truth there is only one item I wished to give you. The sword and medallion where just a by-product. Though I’m glad you appreciate them. There will come a time when you will need to call for my aid.”

“How do you know?”

“A Knowing One is my academic title, is it not?” He reached into his pouch and pulled out a stone about half the size of a fist.

“The Sunstone?”

Ciri examined the etchings on the ancient elven artifact.

“I thought it a much more sophisticated and, well, expeditious form of travel should you need me. I of course possess its counterpart. The Sunstone hasn’t the energy to send a ship through the vastness of space. But it certainly will be able to transport me here one time.”

Ciri studied his face. She felt a sense of closeness to old sage. There was so much that didn’t make sense to her and he might be the only one to understand. Maybe it was fate that he was here. Maybe it was fate he gave her the Sunstone. And maybe fate would determine when she would summon him some day.

“Avallac’h? I...” she hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Yes?”

“There has something that has been troubling me since I left Kaer Morhen.”

She looked around and moved closer to him.

“Iespeth and I, we were cornered. There was no way out. The witch-hunters had...well, never mind the witch-hunters. Needless to say we would have died. After the White Frost I never wanted to use my power again. There is always someone listening, waiting for that ripple in time and space. I didn’t want anyone to know where I was. And for good reason. Even you show up now claiming you felt it. Well, we were there. And I tried to take us away. I couldn’t. Like having a deep thirst and wanting a large swig from a full mug. Yet when you tip the mug only a drop comes out. It was like, I was empty. Is it possible that my powers are gone?”

Avallac'h studied her and contemplated. Though he was a man that pondered every possibility, every outcome, he hadn’t thought of this. It was his understanding that the Elder Blood was one of practically infinite power. “I suppose it is theoretically possible that the energy stored in those complex genes could have been completely used to destroy the White Frost. If that were true, however, how then did you escape?”

“Well, that’s, I suppose, what puzzles me the most. You see it was just before the arrow landed...”

Before she could continue the two were interrupted by a loud thud on the ground. They turned the head to see Iespeth standing over a large wild boar, its sharp tusks protruding from its long snout, lying dead before their feet. 

“Dinner as ordered,” she stated, smiling smugly. “Ciri, perhaps you could inform our friend here that he or she who caught the game doesn’t have to dress it. I can’t imagine he is very accustomed to camp life.” She turned to Avallac'h and withdrew her dagger, tossed it once in the air catching it by the blade and offered him the hilt. “Or am I mistaken?”

He stood up and went over to the emerald-eyed she-elf carefully side-stepping her kill. Iespeth following his aquamarine eyes with every melodic step. Towering over her, his shoulders cast a shadow on her face as he took the gnomish dagger. So close he was that he could smell her sweat. Iespeth suddenly felt imperiled, as if being cornered by a dangerous beast. Though in truth he was nothing like a wild beast. What made someone like Avallac'h so dangerous was that he was never out of control. Always observing, collecting information. Calculating and cunning, though to what depths, Iespeth couldn't possibly know. She made herself consciously not flinch, not to show fear though she desperately wanted to back away. Admitting that she was fearful of him would show a weakness which she didn't particularly feel exposing herself to. But Avallac'h still saw these subtleties.

“I am accustomed to many things,” he said with a certain intonation on every word and a hint of a smirk. He flipped the dagger deftly in his hands so that now the cold steel lay in his palm. “But alas, a door shall open soon in Tir ná Béa Arainne. And my business is concluded here. I dare not linger...even if for such a _grand_ supper.” He glanced snidely at the dead pig.

Iespeth looked down and took her dagger cautiously back from the sage. She suddenly felt ashamed of her kill, though she wasn't sure why.

Avallac'h turned to Ciri. “I look forward to the circumstances under which I see you soon. Remember how to activate the stone?”

“How could I forgot those sweet words?”

Avallac'h gave her a nod. “Until then, Zirael. Farewell, Iespeth.”

He opened a portal and left the glen.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So like I said I am really trying to finish the first part of The Traveler before the baby comes. My apologies if the next few chapters seem a bit rushed.

Though nearly autumn, the Toussaint sun shone brightly down onto the ripe grapes ready for harvest. The servants were busy plucking the purple jewels from their vines. An old man, who had been leaning on a rake complaining about the youth’s these days, straightened himself as the majordomo walked by. 

Barnabas-Basil brought a small basket full of the various sorts of freshly plucked fruits, which would become the vineyard’s award winning Sepremento wine, up to a veranda where the sorceress Yennefer lounged.

“I thought you might like to approve of this year’s Carvanere before they go to be crushed,” he asked her, polite and professional as ever.

The sorceress put down her copy of “The Name of the Orchid” and looked up at the majordomo with her violet eyes.

“Barnabas, you know I know not a fit about making wine. I merely wish to enjoy the fruits of your labors after said fruits have been turned into a refreshing beverage.”

“Of course madam.”

The witcher Geralt walked out with a pitcher of chilled Metina Rosé in which various sweet fruits and berries had been added.

“Would you like to try this year’s harvest, sir?” asked Barnabas-Basil as the witcher walked by.

“Sure, why not.” he replied, after setting the cold beverage on a table next to the fainting couch upon which Yennefer was lying.

Geralt popped the purple morsel into his mouth and chewed carefully, moving the content hither and fro between his cheeks. His heightened senses could taste the hints of blackberries that his vineyard’s wine was famous for.

“Excellent as always, B.B.”

“Thank you, sir!” he strolled off with the rest of the grapes as Geralt sat down near Yennefer's feet.

He put a hand on Yennefer's bare calf as she poured herself a drink. “Yen, do you think we will ever tire of this? Year after year, watching the harvest, drinking wine, lounging in the sun? Or in your case, the shade.”

“I doubt it. Besides, there is no use wining about it now is there?” She shot him an inviting grin.

“Oh I don't know. One shouldn't keep their feelings bottled up inside. Wouldn't you agree?” Geralt responded without even a pause.

“Hmm, I suppose one must let such things breath from time to time. Keeps one from going sour.”

“Yeah, otherwise it could be crushing.”

“Now, now Geralt. You mustn't be too pessimistic, lest you begin to age poorly.”

“But if the vat...hmm. I'm out.”

Yennefer gave a pleasant chuckle and a mock grin of smugness. She placed her foot on his lap and affectionately rubbed his thigh with her toes. Geralt, always amused by her witticisms, sat enjoying himself and the peace and quiet around them. Yennefer turned her attention back to her book until a fly buzzing around her face caused her to look up. Two figures of similar height walking unlike the laborers were approaching the vineyard. She put her book down and shaded her eyes from the glare of the sun while squinting in order to see better.

“Geralt, be a dear and put those witcher eyes to good use. There is someone coming.”

Geralt looked out beyond the estate.

“Well, who'da thunk?”

“Well, Geralt? Who is it? Do I need to go inside and make myself more presentable?” 

Yennefer was wearing a loose, black silk top with a short matching skirt that showed off her immaculately sculpted thighs when the wind blew just right. She had changed her wardrobe insofar as to deal with the heat, but she refused to give up her favorite shades of black. Thus, she generally lounged in the shade despite her plenitude of uncovered skin.

“It's Ciri and some elf.”

“Ciri?!” she practically screamed, leaping from the bench. She took off down the path between the rows of grapes followed by Geralt.

Ciri picked up her pace and immediately embraced Yennefer. Once Yennefer released her, Ciri turned to Geralt. “You look good. Come, don’t just stand there. I want a hug.”

Ciri then introduced Iespeth, who looked at the witcher and sorceress with trepidation. Yennefer looked the elf up and down studying her carefully.

“I must admit, I am quite surprised to see an elf here this far south. Where exactly did you two meet?” she asked the emerald-eyed elf who so very much resembled her dearest Cirilla.

Before Iespeth could answer Ciri interjected “It’s a long story. We’ll have plenty of time for all that soon. But first Geralt, show me the grounds. It looks marvelous!”

That night they dined outside on the veranda by candlelight. Barnabas-Basil had set up an elaborate display of fruits, roasted meats and beverages arranged precisely as the sorceress Yennefer had with great instruction specified.

Ciri regaled the two with some of her witcher contracts from the past years, while Yen and Geralt shared a few of their exploits in Toissaint of which mosty consisted of grape issues, vat problems and anything pertaining to wine. Iespeth sat silently listening to the family that she clearly was not a part of. Eventually, she asked where she would be sleeping and left the three to speak long into the night.

As soon as Iespeth was out of ear shot, Ciri began the tale of how she and Iespeth met.

“Must have have been a spell gone awry. There is no way of knowing now,” Yennefer told her.

Ciri continued telling them of their exploits. She told them of Iespeth’s training at the witcher fortress and of their escape when the witcher hunters attacked. She told them of their trek through the swamp, how Iespeth was injured and how she survived. She finished up recounting the elves they met in the woods and how Iorveth was planning on finding and taking elves to Dol Blathanna.

“Iorveth? How is that old son-of-a-bitch? Still missing an eye?” Geralt snarked.

“Fascinating!” Yennefer continued, without giving Ciri an opportunity to answer the witcher. “So much makes sense now. A few months back hordes of Seidhe passed through Toussaint having arrived in Riedbrune by ship allegedly from Kovir. Refugees from the North I presume. From what I was able to gather, they were all heading to Dol Blathanna. It seems some sort of reverse diaspora is taking place. And what do you plan to do with your little elven friend then?”

“I’m not sure. When we were with those elves. Iorveth and the others, I had a chance to tell her to go with them, to be with her own and I couldn’t do it.” Ciri looked down, ashamed. “I lied to her by keeping information, because I wanted her with me. I just don't feel like she can look after herself, but...she isn't doing so well with me either. Not anymore.”

“You care a great deal about her, don't you?” asked Geralt.

“Like a sister,” Ciri replied.

***

A few evenings later Ciri took Iespeth to the Cockatrice Inn on suggestion from Geralt who was no stranger to brooding elves. The tavern was famous for its Fisherman’s chowder and Ciri wanted to give Iespeth some one on one time.

They arrived as the sun was receding behind Mt. Gorgon onlooking the Sansretour river with hues of purple, blue and red reflecting off its waters. 

The inn was completely full of patrons. Servers whisked in and out bringing plates of paté lined with figs, bowls almost spilling with crayfish chowder and decanters full of Coronata, Vermentino, Erveluce and the famous Est Est of the region.

Due to the mass of patrons, benches and tables had been set up outside lining the bridge over the river.

“We’re full up,” a plump server informed the two. “You’ll have no luck finding a table of your own. You’ll just have to squeeze where there is space.”

Iespeth looked at Ciri with a furrowed brow to which Ciri replied with shrugged shoulders. They scootched their way in next to some other diners and waited to be served.

The man sitting next to Ciri eyed Iespeth who, feeling a bit more untrammeled by her race, hadn’t worn her cowl since they arrived at Corvo Bianco as elves were supposedly more tolerated in Nilfgaard and its vassal states. She stared right back at him daring him to speak.

“It certainly is crowded tonight,” Ciri said, trying to cut the tension by making small talk.

“Is there something you’d like to say?” Iespeth snapped at the man as she ignored Ciri.

The man turned to his companion, “I thought the Lady Duchess had seen to it that all the riff raff refugees had made it Dol Blathanna. Looks like some just refuse our generosity and plant their roots wherever they please.”

Iespeth shoulders rose and shrank everything time she breathed. Her cheeks became red and she slitted her eyes. “Do you have a problem with me, d’hoine?” she asked threateningly.

“Alright, I think its time we leave. Iespeth, come on. We’ll eat at home,” Ciri bade as she stood up to initiate their departure.

 _Home_ , Iespeth thought. _This is no home for me._ She didn’t really have a concept of home. No place to ‘plant her roots’. It certainly would never be in a land of humans. She had seen enough of them to believe they could not now be trusted with her gift, despite a human/elf hybrid having saved their skins not too long ago. She became frustrated, angry. The man looked at her smugly.

“Best take those ears to a more appropriate establishment,” he tooted, waving the two women away.

Before Ciri could say anything, Iespeth had unleashed her dagger and pinned the man’s hand to the table. He moaned in pain as his companion screamed in horror. The other patrons quickly left their seats as the table filled with blood.

“Iespeth?!?! Dammit!” Ciri vociferously screamed, as she grabbed the elf roughly by the arm and pulled her away from the injured man.

“’Pon my honor! What is the meaning of this?!” came a voice from a man in golden armor resembling sea shells. He held an elaborate helmet under his right arm with a peacock feather extending from the crest. At his flank two other knight-errants stood; one in a matte silver curass with an enlarged crest of a taloned bird-of-prey devouring a snake, the other armored in shiny black plate with his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw.

“It’s just a disagreement. Please, can we talk about this. There is no need to...” Ciri began trying to deescalate the situation.

“She stabbed me in the hand! That’s my writing hand! How am I supposed to write? My livelihood? What about MY LIVELIHOOD?! Arrest that elf, I demand it!”

The three knight errants began to move toward Iespeth as they drew their swords. Iespeth began to back away, her hand ready to pull her elven blade. She began planning between what crevices of their armor to shove her steel until Ciri, quick as a cat, got between them.

“Look, before this turns to violence...”

“It already has turned to violence,” the knight-errant with the peacock feather interupted.

“Yes. Yes I know it looks bad, but there must be a way to sort this out. Please contact my friends at Corvo Bianco. Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerburg.”

At the mention of those names, the knight-errants sheathed their blades. “The famed witcher and his lady sorceress? ‘Pon my honor, not an ounce of blood shall be shed to two friends of such worthy a pair.”

The knight-errant turned to one of his compatriots, “François? Go and fetch Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerburg.”

The man in the black plate mounted his horse who was tethered to a nearby fence post and took off at a gallop.

“And what about me?!” the injured man squealed.

The peacock feathered knight placed his hand on the man’s arm and yanked the dagger out of the table. “Just try to keep your sniveling to a minimum, Armaund.”

***

“How bad is it?” Ciri asked as the four walked back to Corvo Bianco.

“Nothing serious that a simple spell couldn’t mend. He should be right as rain in a day or two,” Yennefer replied.

“No, I mean the situation,” Ciri corrected.

“Armaund Conzemius is a two-bit author, peddling cheap romance novels for coin. He’s got no real ear to listen to his complaints. Besides, we’ve given him an adequate sum to make sure he keeps the incident to himself. But there is something else that worries me.”

“What is that?”

“I’ll speak of it later. After some of us have gone to bed.”

Yennefer looked back at Iespeth who was speaking to Geralt.

“Do they hate you too because you are different?” Iespeth asked the witcher.

“At times.”

“How do you live among them? How do you not long for a place with your own kind?”

Geralt sighed. “Well, there isn’t really a place with my own kind. We’re a dying breed.”

Iespeth looked down sorrowfully and remained silent till they arrived. Though hungry, she went to bed immediately knowing that Ciri, Yennefer and Geralt wished to speak privately as they often did.

Yennefer poured three glasses of wine as Geralt brought a plate of cheese and bread.

“There is growing resentment of the elves here in the south,” Yennefer began, not wishing to pussy-foot around.

“How do you know this?” Ciri asked.

Yennefer took a sip of wine, “I still have my contacts. Though I might not be active in the politics I still keep an open ear. Ciri, listen to me. I know you are attached to this girl. I understand this more than you can know and you want to protect her. But you must think of what is best for her.”

“What are you saying Yennefer?”

“Like I said, I still have contacts. Let me contact Francesca Findabair and at least arrange a visit for us to Dol Blathanna.”

“And leave her to the mercy of the Lodge?”

“It wouldn’t be that way Ciri. She isn’t you. It would just be me calling in a favor. I could teleport us there, we could have a look around with Iespeth. If she likes it, she can stay. If she doesn’t she can come back here and we will figure something out.”

Ciri felt torn on the subject. She looked at Geralt, who merely shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve never seen the Valley of the Flowers. I suppose I must let her see it for herself. This is going to be difficult.”

The next day Ciri asked Iespeth to go for a long walk with her. They snaked around the vineyard and wandered into a small fruit orchard. Ciri snagged an apricot from a tree and tossed it to Iespeth.

“Iespeth?”

“Hmm?” she muffled out as she filled her mouth with the sweet, ripe fruit.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Oh? And what's that?” she slurred, as the juices ran down her cheeks.

“When we left the commando...the Scoia’tael, Iorveth told me something that I should have told you the night we left.”

Iespeth finished chewing, but refrained from taking another bite.

“You see, there is this place. Dol Blathanna. It’s a country of elves and...”

“There is a country of elves?”

“Yes, to the north east of here.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” her eyes began to tear up.

“That’s not quite all. You see Iorveth told me something that I withheld from you. His plan was not to go fight humans wherever and whenever he found them. He was on his way to find a group of elves and bring them to Dol Blathanna.”

Iespeth looked at her confused. “Then why would Yaevinn say otherwise? Why would he ask me to join him to fight?”

Ciri could hardly breath, yet forced herself to speak. “Iorveth was hoping that by you coming with, you might convince the others to give up their living their life to kill humans and come with him to remain in Dol Blathanna.”

“Oh, Ciri!” she struggled for air.

“I am so sorry Iespeth. I just wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“That is not YOUR decision!” She screamed angrily and pulled out her sword, slashing through tree branches until she dropped to the ground crying.

Ciri waited for a moment not sure of what to say. Once Iespeth was able to breath she looked up with her now red eyes and face. “I want to go there immediately! I want to see this land of elves and I want to try and find Yaevinn!”

“Arrangements are being made,” Ciri replied, sorrowfully.

“Good!” she snapped, ragefully.

The two walked back to the manor without saying a word.

***

Yennefer twisted the last crystal into place.

“What is that?” Iespeth asked.

“It’s a megascope. It’s used to communicate over long distances,” Ciri explained.

Yennefer flicked her hand till a grey blob appeared within the triangle that the crystals formed.

A woman of great beauty radiently dressed with hair intricately piled on top of her head stepped into the picture.

“Cáed’mil, Yennefer aep Vengerberg. Cirilla.”

“ Cáed’mil, Your Majesty.”

“No need for formalities amongst equals. And who is this?” the woman asked, motioning to Iespeth.

“It is because of her that we summon you.” Yennefer explained. “A dear friend of Ciri’s would like to come to Dol Blathanna.”

The woman eyed Iespeth. “Every Seidhe has a place in their home. She would be welcome.”

Iespeth felt for a moment warmth hearing a Queen of Elves refer to home.

“Then that settles it. I’ll just need coordinates and we shall come right away.”

“That does not conclude the issue. This friend may of course come, but neither you nor Cirilla shall set foot in the Valley of the Flowers.”

“I don’t understand, Francesca.”

“Humans are no longer welcome here. Though I am aware you would cause no harm, it would set an improper precedent seeing as how it was my own royal decree that humans be only allowed up to the border. I cannot apply this law inconsistently and loosely. You must understand.”

Yennefer sighed. “Well, I suppose we haven’t any other choice.”

The queen sent Yennefer coordinates where she could teleport Iespeth and then bade them farewell.

“Va Fail, Francesca.” The picture faded. Yennefer turned to Ciri and Iespeth. Looks like we will have to do this another way. The coordinates she sent me are located near the capitol city where the palace is. I suggest that Iespeth begin her journey there and then make her way west towards the border. There is small control station at the river in the woods called Blie'eth. I suggest we meet there in three weeks time. Then Iespeth can decide whether she wishes to stay or not.”

“Agreed.” Iespeth said without hesitation as she looked at Ciri whose arms were crossed and face twisted in displeasure of the so-quickly-made arrangements. She however, remained silent.

“We’ll have to do this somewhere where I can channel a bit more energy. Besides, Geralt despises when I open portals in the house.”

The trio walked for twenty minutes to a small, sequestered copse. “There happens to be an accumulation of water under these trees. This should do just fine,” Yennefer stated. She raised her arms and opened a portal. The branches of the trees and the few isolated tussocks whipped around erratically as the forces of magic churned in chaos. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead. Iespeth looked at the portal with disapproval and waited. 

“Strange,” Yennefer mumbled to herself as she rechanneled the magical energies and spoke a few incantations till she was sure the portal was stable. The surrounding fauna was now directed towards the opening of the portal, resisting the pull of being sucked in themselves. “You may enter now, Iespeth.”

Iespeth, now seemingly satisfied, walked through the portal and was gone. The portal closed with a loud whoosh, while the grasses and trees flopped back and wavered as they no longer felt its pull.

“Is something wrong?” Ciri asked Yennefer as she took a deep breath and reached into a small pocket, pulling out a handkerchief with lilacs embroidered along the edges. She dabbed the moisture from her face, careful not to smudge her makeup.

“No. Such things happen from time to time. I had difficulty stabilizing the blasted thing. Usually occurs in places of vast power or when particular magical artifacts are nearby. Could have been something on the receiving end unless we are – which I highly doubt – standing over some unknown sacred tomb or battleground. Wouldn’t surprise me near that elven palace. What ancient Seidhe artifacts Francesca keeps in those vaults would interest any sorceress – even a retired one. But whatever it was, it was certainly something of great power.” Yennefer began rearranging her disheveled curls then paused for a moment ascertaining Ciri. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know. I can’t help but feel like I failed Iespeth. She was so happy and trusting, lively and chipper and now she is just so angry all the time. I can’t honestly say I blame her.”

“Did you think you could shield her from the wrongs of this world, my dear daughter?”

Ciri knew in this moment Yennefer had chosen to call her her daughter for a reason. She thought of her own terrible childhood. “I suppose I wanted to spare her what I went through. I suppose I wanted her to have some semblance of a childhood, like I hardly had.”

Yennefer smiled at her with incredulity. “But she was never really a child was she? Not really?”

“No. But then what is she?”

Yennefer shrugged her shoulders and they walked back up to the house.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by FenHarelsBottomBitch

The gate was enchanted, she was sure of it. Most likely made to enhance the success of teleportation, rather than having an actual counterpart gate. The main arches curved upwards in perfect symmetry with various bifurcations off the bulk beam. Iespeth touched the cool, carved stone wondering of what it was made.

“Impressive, is it not?”

She heard a voice behind her and wheeled around quickly. It was the beautiful woman with mounds of hair piled intricately on her head with whom the sorceress Yennefer had spoken to via megascope. _Francesca Findabair, the Queen of the Elves._

“A relic of our forefathers. Exquisite, truly, what those who came before us accomplished. I assume, then, that Yennefer was not in the slightest fatigued from porting you here? For that is this gate’s purpose; acting as a focal point for transplanetary travel.”

Iespeth examined the queen carefully, wanting to choose her words wisely. “Not in the slightest,” she said with a convincing smile.

The woman smiled as if taking a personal pride in the elven artifact. “As queen of Dol Blathanna, I welcome you to the land of the elves. Given the unusual circumstances of you coming here and your acquaintance with two members of a particular organization, of which I am a member, I thought it fitting to offer you a guide to our beautiful land.” 

“Oh? And what organization might that be?”

“I thought it might be common knowledge by now,” the queen replied with incredulity. “Why the Lodge of Sorceresses—well, now called the Lodge of Sorcery—of course.”

Iespeth nodded, pretending to know what she was talking about. “So, this guide you mentioned?”

“Galarr,” the queen called out. A tall man stepped out of the shadows of an adjacent corridor. “This is Iespeth. She is a close friend of someone rather important. Please, show her the beauty of our home so that she knows it is also her home.”

The man was slim, and his hair was black with a distinct hint of dark blue. He had sharp features which gracefully framed his big, bright eyes. He took the queen’s hand and bowed, almost dropping to one knee. When he was done, the queen turned to Iespeth, expecting the same treatment.

Iespeth carefully tried to replicate the eloquent way in which Galarr showed the queen respect, somewhat eager to appear genteel.

The queen reached out her hand for the emerald-eyed elf to pay her respects. Just out of curiosity, Francesca thought, sending out a small magical pulse as the elf touched her fingers. She wasn’t prepared for the burning sensation through her body, radiating in her extremities. It was as if the purest form of energy was exuding from the emerald-eyed elf herself. _A Source. A pure source of energy. The truest I have ever known._ She forced herself to appear composed.

Galarr and Iespeth left the queen standing there, perplexed and in utter shock. It would be another week until she could consult with her closest advisor and friend, the Aen Saevherne, Ida Emean aep Sivney. Alas she was momentarily away on a matter of great importance. 

“It must be her that my vision was about. The Swallow was not the flame. It is her. It is her we must follow,” the sage would tell the queen. But, by the time this information would be shared, it will have been too late.

***

The capital city of Dol Blathanna was an amalgamation of old elven architecture, human destruction and their subsequent additions, and addenda made by the few elven craftsmen that had in the recent years made the last Aen Seidhe civilization their home. The layout of the city had the potential to be a complicated layout with a short, meandering promenade starting at the palace and winding its way through the hills like a snake navigating reeds in a pond. However, its small size made navigating it simpler. The walls of structures which lined the main road contained exquisitely painted murals, statues carved into the stone structures, and where no art was to be found, strategically grown vines with blooming flowers and budding fruits. Various smaller paved paths jutted out like tree branches seemingly at random from the main road leading to dwellings, workshops, and whatever other secrets these tributaries might hide. Iespeth would later realize that the city was constructed with strong influence from the Golden ratio – a mathematical favorite of the elves who enjoyed mimicking nature and often employed it in their architecture and city planning.

The feeling was quite different from that of the few human cities Iespeth had experienced. There were no large shops with vast windows showing off gaudy wares, nor large signs with orange and red paint advertising this or that. No market stands to be seen with loud, boisterous merchants selling their fresh fish, wilted vegetables or questionable cuts of meat. In fact, they had hardly seen a person since leaving the palace. Though she certainly did not miss the scents of a human city and admired the aesthetic beauty of the elven architecture, Iespeth felt uneasy by the lack of others, even if urban dwellers were usually strangers.

A mountain thrush with a squirming moth in its beak caught Iespeth’s eye and landed on the branch of large moon-shaped calabash marking the beginning of a small side-street. 

“He we are,” Galarr spoke softly. “I thought you might first like to see one of our many craftsmen. Elven goods are some of the finest in the Continent which has become one of our most important exports.”

Iespeth followed him through the narrow path which opened up into an unexpectedly large, round courtyard resembling a gourd. She heard the hammering of steal on steal and looked over to see a man working over an open forge. He set his hammer down as the two approached, prepared to greet them.

“Ceádmil, Éibhear.”

“Ceádmil, Galarr,” the smith replied.

“This is a Iespeth. She is here to see our beautiful city.”

“Another one, eh?” the smith replied, examining her. “Well, I’ll give her a look at my smithy then.”

He showed her around his work area, explaining how his forge worked. Galarr followed closely behind with his hands tucked gracefully behind his back. Éibhear explained that apart from agriculture, elven bows and swords were their greatest export right now and he was at full capacity. Iespeth fingered a blade hung on a rack, remarking on the sharpness. A curious notion entered her mind. She turned to the smith smiling puckishly and pulled out her own elven half-sword.

“As a master smith, is there anything you could tell me about my blade?” she asked, handing him her steel.

He took it by the hilt and held it up in the sunlight. “Hmm, beautiful craftsmanship. Certainly old,” he remarked as he tossed it lightly into the air hoping his calculated center of mass would land and balance on two fingers. The sword nearly tumbled to the ground until Iespeth caught it. “Interesting,” the smith said, retrieving the sword from its owner. “You see here? Traditionally, the center of mass would be here,” he pointed to a certain location on the sword’s blade. “But,” he continued, “this one’s is lower to the hilt suggesting that the blade is not the original and replaced the old one. The original would have had much more power since the weight is more concentrated towards the front. With this blade, however, the weight is closer to the hilt making for much more controlled but less damaging attacks. It is meant for a clever fighter,” he explained, giving Iespeth and approving look. “Now here is something quite interesting. You see this small etching on the hilt? That’s a seagull. ‘The bird that soars’. But these runes on the blade… _Tylluan_ ,” he read aloud. “Hmm, I don’t rightly know that word. Galarr? You’re no spring chicken, maybe you remember what that word means?”

Galarr raised his eyebrows almost smugly and answered, “It’s pronounced Tul-lth-ee-an. And it means ‘owl’.”

“Right, of course,” Éibhear replied. “Owl. The bird that guides.” He admired it a bit more before handing back her sword.

“Well, I’d offer to sharpen it, but it seems as sharp as the day it was forged. Perhaps your dagger might be in need of some maintenance?” he asked, indicating the dolch hanging from her hip.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, handing him her weapon. He sat down at his stone wheel and began pumping the pedal to get it spinning. Galarr wandered around picking up this and that blade, preoccupied by the fine steel to watch as the smith worked. Iespeth took the opportunity, pulled up a small wooden stool and sat down close to the smith. He angled the blade to achieve a perfect induced angle of forty-four degrees.

“You’re not originally from here? Haven’t lived all your life in Dol Blathanna among elves, have you?” asked Iespeth.

He looked at her, suspicious of her motives.

She smiled trying to reassure him. “I don’t mean anything by that. I’ve never really lived amongst elves. Most of what I know is of human culture. And that is why I would like to know, what do you think of it here?”

The smith sighed, “I cannot say that my life was better before coming here. At least not recently. In fact, I lived every day wondering when the witch hunters would come for me. Then one day, I went to deliver a sword to a client on his ship who was docked in the Novigrad harbour. Novigrad, that’s where I had forged swords for the past thirty years. The client was from Cintra. When I returned to my smithy, all but one of my body guards had been slaughtered. Their corpses set aflame. Big guys from Skellige, you know? But they were no match for thirty armed witch hunters. The last one, I watched from behind the corner of a building as they asked him with a knife at his throat ‘Where is Hattori?’. He told them to go plow a seal,” the smith chuckled with a sorrowful face. “Then they shoved the blade in his throat. Dammit, Sukrus. You shoulda just told them. Those Skelligans. Stubborn as donkeys and proud as eagles. You won’t get much out of them under torture. Hard sons-of-bitches. I ran back to the client from Cintra hoping he hadn’t left yet. He agreed to transport me back with him provided I give him back his payment. Eventually I made it here.”

Éibhear lifted the blade and tested the sharpness with his finger. He shook his head and placed the edge back onto the spinning sharpening stone, this time on the opposite side.

“Before all that though, I was working on master pieces. My trade was an art. No sword of my creation was the same. I experimented with different combinations of iron and elements, optimizing whatever characteristic was desired. I sold to the wealthiest of North as well as the most skilled swordsmen on the continent. My craft was more than a craft. It was art. True art! I was so alive making my art. Here, I am told to make fifteen swords a week. So I make fifteen swords a week. At first I couldn’t keep up, could only get out five so I had to find ways to become more efficient. I began leaving out runes, detailed hilts, switched to a cheaper form of tanned leather that was quicker to wrap. Each blade consists of the same ratio of iron to carbon which I make in large quantities: zero-point-seven percent carbon and some chrome to increase corrosion resistance. The signature stating that the blade was manufactured by the elves of Dol Blathanna on the butt of the hilt is a stamped as opposed to hand engraved. The quality is still good, of course, compared to most human smiths. But none are unique. None tailored to their wielder. In the past I’d have hired an apprentice to teach and let them practice on the more tedious tasks. I can’t even get an apprentice because who would I find? Every Seidhe that comes is sorted by their skill and assigned a task none of which have been ‘apprentice swords smith’. I fear that this will be what I do ‘til the end of my long life.”

Éibhear lifted the gnomish blade once again and thumbed the edge carefully. “You need to keep this blade better oiled. Here,” he said, motioning her over to a barrel whose scent was pungent but not repulsive. 

“Pop the top of that off, will you?” he asked Iespeth.

She turned the lid to the left and lifted it up, revealing the oil inside. He pulled a rag from the back of his leather apron and dipped it in. “I once used this oil for quenching steal. Slows down the cooling process a bit making the steal less hard, but also less brittle.” He began rubbing the oil-soaked tip of the rag along the gnomish steel and continued, “Unless you are an unskilled swordsman hacking away with the sharp end first, hoping to cut through your enemies’ armor. A skilled bladesman or in your case bladeswoman seeks first the flesh of their enemies when deciding to use the sharp end.”

He handed her back her dagger. He took a leather flask from a shelf nearby and filled it up with some of the oil and gave it to her. “For next time,” he informed her.

“But I don’t have any money,” she said, hesitating to take the flask.

Éibhear took her hand and placed the flask in it, “It’s my treat,” he said, smiling kindly.

Galarr had finished perusing the shop and informed them both it was time to leave. 

“Thank you, Éibhear. It’s been most instructive,” Iespeth said as they parted.

“My pleasure. Hope to see you again.”

***

Iespeth looked down at her rainbow trout atop a colorful pile of summer vegetable and aromatic mix of herbs and spices. She inhaled the steam coming off the food and grabbed her knife and fork. She gingerly opened up the fish, cut into the meat and shoveled some of the vegetable onto her fork. The orgasmic noise she made must have been rather loud as she chewed her food, as Galarr looked up from his meal, eyebrows raised and eyes astonished, pleased that she was enjoying her dish.  
They had stopped at an eatery. Galarr thought it best that satisfy their hunger before continuing the viewing of the city. Iespeth was more than agreeable to pause for a bite, seeing as she was famished. They had already visited various shops and vendors over the course of the day. She found it odd though that, like Éibhear Hattori’s smithy, all the shops had been manned by only one or two adult elves, almost always in seclusion. ‘Bustling’ was certainly not a word she could use to describe the city.

“The food was not always so,” Galarr began as he began separating the meat of his venison from the bones. “It took many years before we were able to cultivate many of the vegetables and fruits here. The world has changed since the d’hoine arrived, but we have learned to adapt.”

Iespeth was aware from her time with the commando that the Aen Seidhe came to this world a few millennia ago on large, white ships. During a Conjunction of Spheres, the humans had appeared and generation by generation changed the ecosystem.

“There was once a more beautiful time when the earth gave such gifts freely to the Mountain Folk. Now we’ve been forced to learn to farm. We are grateful that Dol Blathanna is the most fertile territory known. It is fitting that it belongs to the elves. Are you enjoying your meal?”

Iespeth nodded, cheeks close to bursting. Once she had chewed a bit more of her food she spoke. “Very much so.”

“I’m glad. And, what do you think?”

“About what? Oh, the city?”

Galarr nodded as he began to stab the finely cut meat and place the morsels in his mouth.

“Well, it certainly is lovely. But...”

Galarr swallowed and looked at her, waiting.

“Galarr, this is very nice and all, but you don’t need to show me the niceties of the city. I honestly came here looking for someone.”

Galarr wiped his mouth. “Is that so? And who might that be?”

“His name is Yaevinn. He and I were...well acquainted for a time. I mostly came here to see him.”

“Ah. I see. So if you find him you would stay?”

“I believe so,” she said, following his lead and wiping her mouth as well.

That seemed to satisfy him. “Well, I have heard of Yaevinn, though I don’t know him personally. But I do know someone who does. Let us finish eating and then we shall go.”

He took her to another gem of the city. A stone fountain of a topless elven woman pouring water from an urn into a pool of clean, clear water.

They approached a lovely she-elf sitting on the edge of the fountain strumming the strings of a lute. She had black hair that fell luxuriantly over her shoulders, except for two thin plaits braided at her temples. She was wearing a short leather camisole over a loose shirt of green satin, and tight woolen leggings tucked into boots. Her hips were wrapped around with a colored shawl which reached halfway down her thighs.

“Toruviel, my dear,” he called to the elven woman.

“Galarr,” she replied, as they exchanged kisses on the cheeks.

Galarr introduced his guest and then got straight to the point. “Toruviel, Iespeth here came looking for Yaevinn. You two were close. If I recall correctly, you served in his command for a time, did you not?”

“I did. But I haven’t seen him in quite some time. Then again, he never was a man for the city. Your best bet would be to check the smaller farming settlements if he's come to Dol Blathanna. But if I had to place a bet on his location, it would be somewhere on the border. Scouting or fighting.”

“There is fighting on the border?” asked Iespeth.

Toruviel smiled, “Per se. It'd be better to call it the occasional skirmish.”

“My thanks, Toruviel. Thank you, Galarr!”

Before she set off, Galarr provided her with a map of all the settlements in Dol Blathanna.

***  
The days seemed to fly by as she made her way west across the Valley of the Flowers, stopping at every settlement along the way. No one had seen Yaevinn, though she hadn’t given up hope of finding him yet, seeing as she had yet to reach the border. What troubled her though was the situation of the elves here. She was surrounded by “her people” yet she felt as if the entire beauty of the place was washed over in emptiness. It was if the Seidhe were stagnant, unsure of where to go and too a feared to move. And in all the time she had been there, she had yet to see a child.

She arrived in the early evening to the next settlement on her map. It had been lightly showering the whole day. The small village had been built among many small brooks, which the locals had used for rice in the lower elevation. The hills surrounding the rice paddies proudly and naturally displayed many sorts of fruit bearing trees. Apples, pears, cherries, mirabelles, damsons, all hung seductively ripe and ready to be eaten. Even lemons, oranges, kumquats and many other citrus trees bore their fruit, despite being more suited to warmer climates. It was as if magic permeated the ground and allowed the earth’s gifts to thrive here. Iespeth thought of what Galarr had said about this world and its past.

The houses were modest yet nicer than many of those she had seen before. Each had a solid foundation of stone and the architecture seemed a bit sturdier and wind tight. There were perhaps seven abodes in total, with a barn to store their crops in and a large open-air kitchen with an extensive wooden roof to protect it from precipitation. Even in the rain, large meals could be cooked here.

Everyone seemed to be out working in the paddies and Iespeth figured she best wait for them to finish their labors. She felt, though, as if some eyes were watching her intently. She thought she heard someone whisper. “...rael,” was all she could make out. She turned and saw a man sitting at a very large table under the roof covering the kitchen. As she approached, looking at him with her emerald eyes, he almost seemed nervous and watched her as lion might watch a rival. He slowly stood up, pushing himself off his stool with his large hands and built arms. She could almost feel his tension – or was it fear – but she wasn’t sure why. The elf was tall, taller than any elf she had ever seen. Even taller than Avallac’h, the Aen Elle sage. She approached him further and peeled off her cowl which was soaked through from the rain.

“Ysgarthiad!” said the elf, who seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 

“I beg your pardon? I’m not familiar with that word,” she replied.

“Never mind,” he replied, taking a seat again.

Iespeth looked down at the table where pieces of parchment lay. It seemed logical that books would be kept on the crops and harvests, yet upon the papers were various mathematical formulas and geometrical drawings that Iespeth didn’t recognize. The man quickly gathered the pieces of parchment and turned them over.

“You are new here,” he stated bluntly, looking at her coldly. She couldn’t help but notice something off in his dialect, but being no native speaker of Hen Llinge, she was unsure. His eyes were an almost unnatural blue which seemed fitting placed next to his pale skin. Paler still was his hair, which, had it been clean, might have been white. He had high cheekbones and appeared young with no folds on his face, yet with elves it was always difficult to be sure. If he hadn’t behaved so queerly, she might've considered him quite beautiful.

“Yes. Brilliant observation,” she said sarcastically. She quickly reprimanded herself for being rude. “I apologize. I’m just a bit travel weary. I’m Iespeth,” she said, stretching out her hand. He held out his own and let her grab it. She was surprised when his skin made contact with hers. He was different, much different than the others. An elf, certainly, but different. _And he also has a similar active gene. Just a mere fraction as strong though. Quite diluted. Fascinating._

“This would be the part where you tell me your name,” Iespeth instructed.

The tall elf looked towards the hills and Iespeth’s eyes followed. The others were returning from the paddies, each with a bucket of water, apart from two with large baskets completely full of fruit. Twelve, Iespeth counted as they all made their way to the pavilion. The two with the baskets began deftly washing, peeling and preparing the fruits while another set up wood for a fire. A few, after setting down their water, took out sacks of dried rice and began grinding it to a fine flour.

Iespeth stood there watching until a brown-haired she-elf went over to the massive elf sitting at the table. The woman was rather plain, wore no make-up nor dolled up her hair. She kept it tied back with a leather strap. Her eyes were a dull chestnut and her face pleasantly round. Her cotton skirts were pinned to her thighs and she was barefoot, her legs covered in mud up to her knees.

“Me gynvael,” she said to him affectionately. My ice. She moved to his side and he wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her even closer to him. He looked up as she tipped her head to kiss him; his size making it unnecessary for her to have to bend down. She pulled away and looked to Iespeth.

“Hello,” the woman greeted her warmly. “I’m Vanya.”

“Well, at least someone can introduce themselves here. My name is Iespeth.”

Vanya looked down at the man as if to scold him and in response he looked away furtively. “This is my husband Amdir. Amdir, perhaps you would like to help Vanadain with the fire,” she said excusing him. He nodded and left to the fireplace. It was very subtle, and most mightn’t have noticed, but Iespeth spotted the slightest limp in his walk as if he had once been injured in the lower abdomen.

“Please excuse his manners,” Vanya requested. “He always gets nervous around strangers.”

Iespeth chuckled and shrugged, “I’ve met ruder. Besides, lucky for him I doubt you see that many strangers here.”

Vanya smiled. “So, what brings you here? Are you looking to settle here? We have two empty houses, and of course I’m sure many of the lads wouldn’t mind you shacking up with them should you wish.”

Iespeth looked over at the men preparing the food. The massive elf Amir knelt in front of hearth who curiously, in the few seconds he had been gone, already had the fire roaring. “Well, actually, I’m just passing through. I’m looking for someone. His name is Yaevinn. Perhaps you know him? Or at least seen him? He has long raven hair and eyes to match.”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen anyone like him.”

Iespeth looked off into the hills in disappointment. “Well, I guess I’ll be on my way then.”

“Wait! Don’t be silly,” Vanya insisted, before Iespeth could move. “It’ll be dark in a few hours and the next settlement is a good day’s walk. You'll eat with us tonight, sleep in one of those houses and make your way tomorrow first thing.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense! Besides, we have more than enough to eat.”

“Is there anything I could at least do to help?”

“Just sit here and talk to me. It’s been ages since I’ve talked to anyone not living here.”

The two conversed as the aroma from the food being prepared around them just a few meters away saturated the immediate air. Slowly they became surrounded by plates, cutlery and glasses and finally dishes filled with fruit pies, vegetable sautés, fish baked in leaves, mugs filled with herb-enhanced sauces and multiple bowls heaping with aromatic rice. Iespeth remembered again what it was like to laugh in good company, despite the large elf Amir frequently giving her perplexing glances.

That night Vanya showed Iespeth were she would be staying.

“Thank you, Vanya. You truly are too kind.”

“We Seidhe, we look out for each other. This Yaevinn, he is important to you, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I hope you find him. I assume you'll want to take off at first light? We aren't the earliest bird's around here, so I'll go ahead and say goodbye. Remember our little hamlet if you are ever looking for a home.”

“Will do.”

***  
As Vanya returned to her house and entered the bedroom, she saw him sitting in front of the mirror, fingering his scarred abdomen. Fresh it was when she found him lying in the woods unconscious and as cold as ice–despite the warmer temperatures–over three years ago. Gynvael, she called him, meaning 'ice' in the Elder Speech. She had stitched him up as best she could and changed his calendula-soaked poultices daily. Once he regained consciousness he refused–and still refuses–to tell her how he got there and what gave him that wound. She wasn’t always patient with him, commanding him when to take his medicinal herbs and to stay in bed. He clearly had a strong opinion of how he should best be healed and often tried to explain to her the “inferiority of her knowledge”. “Haven’t you a _real_ healer?” he would ask. Their start was arguably antagonistic until one night when she cruelly and loudly shared with him her opinion, demanding he either leave or change his attitude. He cried. It was then she realized he cared for her and her words cut him deeply. He became softer and more tender towards her, and she more compassionate towards him. It troubled her for a long time–his secretive nature–but she grew to love him and resigned herself to let his past be his past.

She placed her hands on his muscular shoulders. He turned towards her and buried his face between her breasts while wrapping his arms around her holding her close as if seeking comfort. She held his head as if to protect him.

“I love you,” he whispered her, “more than you can possibly know.”

She lifted his chin up with a sweet smile and gave him a kiss, softly and kindly. “And I you, _me gynvael._ ” Then she gently took his hand leading him to bed.

She told him without words what she wanted that night. He began as instructed between her legs, first with his fingers, then with his tongue. He did it how she liked it, how she had taught him as pleasing her was what pleased him.

Vanya was different from every other woman he had been with. Some had thrown themselves at him, desiring status and privilege. Others he was instructed to lay with. In any case, he waited until they had finished him off and then commanded them to leave. They always seemed content with this and he never understood why. But Vanya told him what she wanted, how she liked it. He remembered being ashamed of his skill the first time they had made love as she had asked him if he'd been a virgin before that. He couldn’t understand why, but he had an insatiable drive to please her, to make her happy inside and outside of the bedroom.

Once he had given her an adequate number of orgasms she lowered her legs yet kept them spread, signaling him to enter her. She hadn’t so much as touched him, yet his member was hard and ready.

He slid easily inside her, she already being slick and engorged. She held his head to hers and he kissed her passionately as he made love to her. He enjoyed the deep, guttural moans she made when she climaxed around him. He held back his orgasm until he was sure she was satisfied. He stayed inside her for some time, supporting his weight on his elbows, not wanting to separate from her so quickly. He kissed her before finally rising and the two cleaned themselves off.

He slipped easily into a slumber until the dreams began. He saw flashes of eyes, both pairs unmistakable and the pain was there again. A sword through his abdomen, twisting, turning. He remembered the panicked feeling of desperation and then the cold. _One more jump. Just one more._ He shot up and grabbed where the sword had entered, the pain subsiding where the scar remained. He gasped for air, but it seemed as if the room had been vacated of oxygen.

“It’s alright Amir, I am here,” Vanya called to him. She immediately got on her knees behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest. “Breathe with me,” she commanded softly. He focused on her breasts slowly rising and falling. He put his hands on her thighs and braced himself until he could breathe normally again.

Vanya wanted to ask him what happened. It had been over a year since his last episode, yet she assumed he would say nothing like he had always done. “Are you okay?” she then asked.

“Vanya,” he answered, unable to look into her face, “it is time I told you of my past. About who I am. Those eyes. That stranger who came today. She reminded me of someone I’d rather have forgotten.”

He spoke of where he came from and who is people were.

“You can’t be serious. They are a myth,” she told him. 

“It is no myth, no legend. It is the truth,” he countered.

He told her of his abilities. “Why do you think I have such a vast knowledge about so many subjects? Why am I able to start a fire with soaked wood when the others can’t? Why do you think our trees bear fruit out of season?

She didn’t believe him, so he showed her, summoning fire in his hand, showing her his magic.

He told her of his travels. His battles. His victories. And his defeat, which brought him to her doorstep.

“I was born into a position of perfect privilege. Raised and trained as a golden child. Reared to be a savior to my people. For centuries I fought for them. And on that day in Skellige I bled for them. I teleported out of that cold, lake. That kind of magic isn’t hard to track for those of my rank. As I lay in the fields waiting for them to come for me it was a Seidhe...you who came. And as I lay in my the sick bed made of straw and cheep cotton, I ‘knew’ my kind would come for me. To come for their golden child.” He began to shake his head. “No one came. Just you. Every day tending to my wounds, no matter how nasty I was to you. Changing my dressings, applying that ointment, all while I spat on your knowledge as a healer. I know now that I was angry. I was just a tool. No one, not even the man that raised me cared for me. I was just a means to an end. I felt and still do feel a deep, swelling seed of betrayal for my own people.”

Vanya began to sob, not sure of how to deal with this knowledge. She thought he had been traumatized serving in some Scoia’tael commando and his last skirmish had done him in. But this was nowhere near that. She was quiet for a long time.

“And Amir, is that even your real name?” she finally asked, wiping away her tears.

“No,” he answered. “It’s Caranthir. Caranthir Ar-Feiniel.”

***

“You'll have to talk to the commander. I've not heard that name in years.”

“Well then, where can I find this commander?”

“Under the main watch. Over there,” he said, pointing towards a large platform built high in the trees. “He wears a red scarf over his right eye.”

Iespeth desperately began walking towards where she might find this commander. She'd had no luck in any of the settlements nor on the other border stops she had visited. It was her last day and she was due to meet Ciri and Yennefer here in Blie’eth. Her heart raced as she approached the man with a red scarf on his head. Iespeth let out the most peculiar noise when he turned around.

“Iorveth!”

He immediately embraced her and she him.

“Iespeth, I never thought I would see you here. I thought you took the witcher's path.”

“That life isn't for me.”

“It would be a rather lonely life, I imagine?”

She smiled and gripped his shoulders almost not believing him to be real. “Too lonely for me. So where are the others?”

Iorveth said nothing, though she was sure he heard her. 

“Iorveth, I came here looking for Yaevinn. Have you seen him?”

Iorveth immediately became somber and looked away. “Iespeth, Yaevinn is dead.”

The words hit her, knocking her breath from her lungs.

“He didn't want to come here. I tried to convince him, but he wouldn't listen. He and a few of the others decided to engage a battalion three times their size when passed through Lyria. We couldn’t even retrieve his body. The failure is mine,” Iorveth was crying.

Iespeth wanted to tell him that she was at fault. If she had just stayed she could have convinced him. But would it truly have made a difference? She wanted to cry and scream. She searched for the right words when she heard a sharp whistle. They both looked to their right where an arrow had been shot in the ground.

“Signal arrows,” Iorveth stated. “There's something wrong.”

Three more arrows sung their song landing near Iorveth and Iespeth's feet.

They looked up at those in the tree tops shouting and pointing to the woods in the west. “Mercenaries!”

They both heard the loud cries of fighters bustling through the undergrowth. Iorveth turned to Iespeth, grabbing her shoulder. “You must run. RUN! We'll fend them off.”

Iespeth ignored him, throwing her pack to the side and stringing her bow. “I'll decide when I depart,” she said, situating her quiver against a tree for convenient access.

Iorveth shook his head. He began shouting orders to the soldiers in the trees in the Elder Speech and then took up his bow side by side with Iespeth. “Remember, keep that tension out of your shoulders. And don’t draw till you are ready to release,” he instructed. 

The first wave went down fairly quickly, taken out by the archers in the trees. The few that made it a bit closer during the second wave met their end at the arrows of Iorveth, Iespeth and the few who couldn't make it up in time. The battle seemed easy enough until the fires came. Bowmen sent lit arrows of pitch into the forest, setting the tree tops aflame. The elves up high scurried as fast as they could down ladders and ropes, hoping to escape the flames. Iespeth heard the screams of those who weren't so lucky in the background, but her anger and rage kept sending arrows forward. She heard the thunder of horse hooves and glanced at Iorveth in concern. She heard one of the other elves laugh when squeals reached their ears. “The stupid humans should know better than to send cavalry into the woods. Looks like they found our traps!” 

Still, the flood of humans kept coming closer and closer, wave upon wave. I'll stay ‘til the last second. _I'll stay ‘til I am forced to leave_ , Iespeth thought releasing her last arrow. She dropped her bow and unsheathed her two blades, ready to find enemy flesh. The first to reach her attacked with a spear which she avoided, spinning to the side as the man lunged, receiving a quick but deadly jab in the gut from the she-elf's dagger. Her next victim was tall man with a shield, who, lucky for Iespeth, seemed not to realize his legs were perfectly open. A quick roll and slash at his knees sent him to the ground screeching until Iespeth slid her sword across his face, silencing him. A mounted soldier came charging towards her and she instinctively cast Aard at him. Though not very powerful, the flurry of leaves startled the beast, causing it to rear up and fall backwards onto his rider and three other men, who each met their end with sharp steel in the eye.

A slice to the neck. A jab to the gut. A blade through the crevice. Blood sprayed as Iespeth performed her dance of death, but the humans kept coming.

At first it was just close calls, the she-elf barely leaping out of the way of an axe, pole or sword. But eventually she found herself surrounded, having drawn so much attention with her killing. She looked around at her enemies slowly closing in on her. She focused on just one, taking in his eyes. They were brown, she recalled. I kill one more, just this last one before I leave. Closer and closer he got, with a smile beaming across his face until it went blank. Iespeth saw his veins turn black and heard the screams behind her. His eyes rolled back into his head as he dropped dead with his mouth open. The others dropped too.

“You've messed with the wrong sorceress!” she heard from a distance as electricity carefully controlled permeated the air. Iespeth could smell the scent of searing flesh and watched in awe as the sorceress destroyed her enemies with her powerful magic.

Nearby, where other elves were still fighting, unmistakable green flashes skirted around, dropping the mercenaries like a scythe through stalks of wheat. Iespeth grinned wickedly.

The forest was littered with bodies and the human mercenaries quickly retreated. Elves, quick as silver, took pursuit, picking off any and all not on horseback. Iespeth looked around at the carnage. She saw Iorveth kneeling on the ground and ran to him.

He bent over a body, placing his hand on the elf’s forehead and ran his palm down his face, closing his eyes. “Va f’ail,” he said, his face twisted.

“Who was he?” Iespeth asked as Iorveth rose from his knees.

“He was new. Caleth, he was called. Just arrived. Insisted on remaining at the border.” Iorveth shook his head. Though few elves perished that day he and Iespeth both knew that every elven life lost was unlikely to be replaced.

“That was the largest attack we have had so far,” Iorveth said, as Yennefer and Ciri walked over. _And I fear it won’t be the last._ He looked at them with a hint of gratitude, though his pride prevented him from outright thanking two humans. “I’d best check on the others,” he said, leaving the three women.

“Ciri!” Iespeth called out in relief, having forgotten her anger and held her sister.

“Iespeth. You arranged quite a welcoming party for us, dear sister,” Ciri quipped, as Iespeth released her. She gave her sword a hearty whisk, splattering the ground with the blood of her foes.

Iespeth snorted and gave her an affectionate nudge on the shoulder. 

“I must say, frying anyone who fights for that bastard Radovid certainly lifts my spirits. And I never could tolerate those who fight for gold. Yennefer understood the earnest look on Ciri’s face immediately. “I’d best go tend to the wounded then,” Yennefer informed them, fluffing her raven curls.

Once Yennefer was out of earshot, Ciri, with a fearful look of seriousness, licked her dry lips, unsure how to ask the question she had been dreading.

“There is no point in beating around the bush,” Iespeth began, her attitude now forlorn. “I know what you want to ask me. You want to know whether I shall remain here or not.”

Ciri nodded her head, ashamed.

“Come,” she requested, “let us talk away from all this death. The smell is...” she turned her head and wrinkled her nose. The two walked away from the battlefield through some light undergrowth. Iespeth finally stopped at a medium-sized boulder and took as seat as a fern tickled her shoulder. Ciri sat down close to her so that their shoulders were touching.

“I understand now, I think, why you didn’t want me to come here. Why you behaved the way you did. You wanted to protect me, and I believe with the knowledge you had it gave you every reason to do as you did. I don’t think I was angry with you. It’s something else. This place is not what I thought it was. There are things I need to do, and I can’t do them here. Not like this.” Iespeth looked as if she desperately wanted to tell Ciri something but couldn’t.

Ciri put her arm around Iespeth. “What to do you need to do?”

Iespeth turned to Ciri and began to touch her face as if examining her features. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“I... I suppose I do.”

Iespeth snorted. “It’s a silly notion. It implies that no matter what you do you fulfill some silly plan of...what? Some powerful being? As if you were a puppet on some marionette strings dancing on a stage. Tell that to the drunk on the street waiting for his destiny as a king. We make our own destiny, Ciri. We have our own free will and that we act on it is our greatest power. You of all people should know this.”

Ciri had never heard her talk so transcendentally. “What are you saying, Iespeth?”

“I’m saying I’m not going to stay here. I can’t stay here. What future would there be here for me in this land of decay?”

Ciri thought about her words. What was destiny? All those farseers and soothsayers. All those prophesies and foretelling. When she destroyed the White Frost, had she been just some product of destiny? Some instrument of some powerful being whose undeviating plan had been imposed on her? No, it was her choice, her will with the help of Avallac’h’s that destroyed the White Frost. She should have been pleased with Iespeth’s decision, but she was far from it. Ciri knew how to protect this person so dear to her that she was prepared to do anything. Sometimes having free will, having a choice, was the most painful part of existence, but it was all one truly had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galarr and Vanadain were elves in the short story "The End of the World" featured in "The Last Wish.
> 
> Toruviel was also in that short story, as well as The Witcher 1.
> 
> Éibhear Hattori was in the quest "Of Swords and Dumplings" in The Witcher 3.


	31. Chapter 31

“Aen verelith cyrre naid. Ader eich blaen eide ‘me.” _I give you my heart. But I shall take your head._

***

Avallac’h sat peacefully on his terrace looking out over the skyline of Tir ná Lia as the sun sunk behind the city’s sophisticated architecture. The lavender scent of his _G’ymar_ , his ‘companion’ Maondine still lingered after she had left him with his beverage of choice and a plate of perfectly ripened figs. The sage nibbled on the fruit, meticulously crushing the tiny, crunchy seeds between his front teeth. 

Once he was finished with his snack, he stood up and went over to the railing, his alabaster colored robes open and fluttering in the breeze. Avallac’h’s mind was for the last time as clear as it would ever be which is why it came as such as surprise when Maondine interrupted his meditations holding the small, glowing stone in her dainty hands.

“Crevan?” she said holding out the Sunstone. He looked at her confused and took the ancient bauble. He waited for a moment till it resonated and pulsed once more. He hadn’t been prepared for this. He expected to dream of the Elder Blood as he always did and then would wait to feel those ripples in time and space. _Dammit, Ciri._ What was she using the stone for?

He flung off his robe leaving it on the ground and briskly walked naked into the house. He cast a spell summoning his clothes on and grabbed his satchel and staff. He returned to the terrace and held the Sunstone close to his lips.

_I accept your heart and gladly give you my head_ , he spoke in the ancient dialect. The stone began to glow brighter and the energy from it encompassed the sage.

Maondine was left alone there on the terrace with an empty robe and a mind full of questions.

***

Ciri fumbled the small stone around in her hand. She looked at Iespeth who was leaning against a large bolder, her arms crossed and scowling.

“How long will it take?” she asked Ciri.

“I suspect not long. He need merely speak the words into the counterpart and it should teleport him here directly." Iespeth huffed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Ciri had chosen a secluded grove at the foot of Mount Gorgon to summon their Aen Elle ‘friend’. There was a cave somewhere nearby in the depths of the vast mountain containing an ancient elven ruin. Ciri was certain a gate existed there.

They watched as the magic flickered and grew until the figure of a man formed. Once the transportation was complete Avallac'h inspected his surroundings quickly as if preparing for a battle.

“Hello, Avallac'h,” Ciri said nervously.

The sage felt the two pairs of intense emerald-eyes fixated on him and he rested the butt of his staff on the ground. “Caed’mil, witcheress’”. He felt the tension and waited a bit before speaking again.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

Iespeth scoffed and shuffled her feet once more. He looked at her curiously, thinking she had grown more beautiful since last he saw her, though she was clearly adverse towards him. Truth be told she was his little secret about whom he often thought of, tucked away quietly in his mind and in the land of the Aen Seidhe.

“Can we walk?” Ciri asked ask the sage. 

He held out his hand gesturing. “Lead the way.”

He realized the she-elf remained leaning on her bolder though she didn’t remove her scowling eyes from him. Once Ciri and Avallac'h were a ways away she began.

“Avallac’h? I need something from you.”

“Oh?”

“What do you know of Dol Blathanna?”

The land had great symbolic meaning to him. It was on the border where Lara Dorren had died. Where he had found her lifeless body lying in the snow with a babe at her breast. The Seidhe believed that Feainnewedd grew only where Elder Blood had been spilled and only began to grow after her death. The former belief was preposterous yet the latter of the legend was true as he himself had cultivated the flower for her in remembrance. Though he was fond of teaching others elven history he hadn’t the stomach to revisit a topic so painful to him.

“It’s the last land of the free elves on the Continent,” he merely replied.

Ciri nodded her head. “And closed in by mountains in every direction except for Aedirn looming to its west.”

Avallac'h watched her intently wondering when she would get to the point.

“It seems as though all elves in the Continent are being encouraged to go there. I suspect the hope is that with some of the younger elves concentrated there that they might begin having children.”

Ciri took a few steps ahead of Avallac'h and spun around to face him. “Radovid, King of the North seems determined to take Dol Blathanna, though it is strategically difficult. I’ve no idea if he just wants the fertile lands or to destroy the elves. Perhaps both though it doesn’t really matter I suppose. They keep poking and prodding and although the Seidhe until now have easily fought off every attack, their numbers will eventually grow thin.”

“And will not be replaced.” Avallac'h filled in. “Though in theory they could.”

“What do you mean?” Ciri asked.

“It is a falsehood that an elf’s fertility is dependent on their age. A she-elf’s ability to conceive is entirely dependent on her ‘state of mind’ so to say. It isn’t truly a conscious decision, but a simple question of...how would say...feeling at ease. You humans are not as fortunate or unfortunate depending how you look at it. Ever heard of a she-elf getting pregnant from rape? I suspect that most elves in Dol Blathanna are aware of their impending doom which is why few of their women – young or not – will bear children. So, yes, in theory they could increase their numbers, but they will not.”

“How can you be so calm saying that? How can you speak of them so casually as if you were breeding horses or some threatened animal?”

Avallac'h looked at her without emotion. “Zirael, it matters not how I speak of them, but what I can do about it. And the answer to that is: nothing. I cannot change the events that take place on that border. I cannot change how the Seidhe dealt with humans when they arrived in the past. And I cannot change the massive tides they find themselves now subjected to. There is nothing I can do to help them.”

Ciri had tears in her eyes as she looked at him astonished. “Well, there is at least some small something you CAN do.”

He looked at her quizzically. “And what might that be?”

“Take Iespeth back with you. To the land of the Aen Elle.”

The request nearly stole his breath. There was no way he could take a Seidhe back with him much less one who so much resembled Lara Dorren. The rumors, the suspicions, the whispers. He wasn’t prepared for it.

“I cannot,” he plainly stated.

“Why not!?” she snapped.

“Zireal. Please try to understand. Do you remember how foreign my world was to you when you came? Everything made you angry. You were so impatient. Hardly willing to learn. It will be that way for your friend as well. She is Aen Seidhe. From this world. She will not get along there.”

“She is an ELF! Seidhe or Elle it doesn't bloody-”

“Do you think she will be considered one of us because of consanguinity?” he interupted. “The Aen Seidhe and the Aen Elle parted long ago and the Elle's opinion of the Seidhe has not improved since. She will not be welcomed there.”

Ciri huffed. “Will she be met with pyre?”

Avallac'h looked at Ciri with such a face scolding her for suggesting that the Aen Elle would partake in something so barbaric, yet her point was made.

“Then help her. Teach her! Dammit make your people understand!”

Avallac'h shook his head.

“You are a Knowing One. You KNOW there is no future for her here!” Ciri pleaded.

The fact was not unknown to the sage. Yet, the future of the Aen Elle was also doomed. Perhaps not by axe and sword, but by stagnation. His people had not been able to produce a child in over three hundred years, though no one knew why. Some had already given up and died of sorrow, seeing no point in living a meaningless eternity. The fate of the Hill Tribe and the Alder folk seemed sealed. He wasn't sure whether a quick, physically painful death was better than a slow, depressing one.

“And what does she think of this notion?”

“At first she too said ‘I cannot’ though at a much louder volume. Eventually she saw the strength of my argument.”

Avallac'h looked at her amused, hearing her use his own words. He began to ponder how he would make this possible, as he knew Ciri was stubborn and would not relent. The idea then dawned on him.

“I suppose then, I can take her there as my apprentice,” he suggested with trepidation. “Though you must understand what a sacrifice this is. It will only be a matter of time before it is realized that she is just some Seidhe I brought back from this place.” _And looks terribly like Lara Dorren._

“There is some evidence that she might be adept at magic. Couldn’t you teach her?”

Avallac'h looked at her in disbelief.

“I am Aen Saeveherne. Only those possessing the greatest abilities of space and time have fallen under my tutelage. The most talented of navigators and seers of the Aen Elle all owe their heightened capabilities to me. Spending years teaching some sub par mage to throw fire is beneath my talents.”

“And Lara Dorren? What about my great ancestor?”

“Lara?” he replied, taken aback. “She…she was different. The secrets of space and time had come so intuitively to her. Though it began with one the teacher and the other the pupil, the roles reversed over the years. Not even I could compete with her intuitive understanding of and abilities to control time and space. She taught us much. Perhaps it is not even possible for you to comprehend the great loss she was to us elves.”

Ciri looked him straight in his aquamarine eyes. “She is going with you. And I insist you make her your responsibility!”

The sage sighed silently, only betrayed by the tightening and releasing of his shoulders. Ciri didn’t understand that he had other obligations, other issues needing his attention among the Aen Elle. Not to mentioned Maondine would not be pleased with him bringing a young woman home with him. He rationalized that if the she-elf had any inclination towards magic then she might be deposited on some other mage more suited. On the other hand if she demonstrated no magical talents, then she would be given some menial task, a place to live in the Basin district – a district for those with no talents – and that would be that. Either way he would have her out of his way quickly. Yet, he never considered the possibility that she might possess the ability to manipulate time and space.

“I already agreed to take her did I not? There are just few things to work out. Nothing of your concern.”

Ciri gave him a curt look. “Then it’s settled?”

Avallac'h gave her an affirmative nod and they made their way back to where they had left Iespeth.

***

The cave Avallac’h led them to was astonishingly full of light. The geological features – stalactites, dripstones, openings to the surface, and various rocks – created a kaleidoscope of brilliance and color. The sage summoned a magical ball suspended in the air blazing with light only adding to the luminescence. He led the two women to a stone wall depicting a painting of primitive hunters taking down a purple bison. 

“Is this the legacy of our people? The ones who built this ruin?” Iespeth said sarcastically as she examined the astonishingly large pricks on the humanoid figures.

“This is a fictitious depiction of prehistoric man. A mere camouflage. Only someone so daft would attribute this as earnest art made by elves!” Avallac'h retorted, thoroughly insulted. Normally her jabs never affected him, but considering what was behind the wall and considering the circumstances he was finding himself in, his patience was thin. He spread his arms wide in a sudden movement casting the charm opening the rock wall and splitting the fresco of the purple bison and hunters in two.

He conjured another ball of light in the elven fashion, simply using a gesture, without uttering a spell. The light sparkled and reflected off the rock crystal. Ciri and Iespeth were not prepared for beauty hidden within the vast cave, which was highlighted by their simultaneous gasps. Figures of elves laced the room as if made, not by chisel and hammer, but rather a powerful spell having changed living tissue into the white marble of Amell.

He walked slowly through the myriad of statues, followed by the even slower women whose mouths hung open and eyes flittered about. Avallac'h had found this to be a place of solitude and remembrance, a place of reflection for him, but his mood was not interested in what feelings this place once to evoked. He summoned another blue ball of light sending it forward beyond the figures allowing it to illuminate colonnades, stairways, amphitheatrical galleries, arcades and peristyles in the distance. 

He turned to see Iespeth fixated on one of the statues in particular.

“This one is styled differently from the others,” she said seemingly mesmerized by the she-elf’s statue’s aspect and pose. It was as if it had been sculpted with someone missing from the cenotaph. 

She reached out to touch the face which depicted an expression of calm happiness. 

“Do not touch her!” Avallac'h snapped. Iespeth withdrew her hand quickly, startled by the usually calm elf’s outburst.

“Who was she?” she asked examining the irate Aen Elle, now more than ever intrigued by this particular elf’s likeness.

Avallac'h stood still for a moment then finally answered, attempting unsuccessfully to hide his emotion as he watched the she-elf who seemed like a mirror of the statue. “That is Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal.” 

He wanted to blame the stress of the sudden circumstances on his emotional state. The stress of knowing he would be burdened with some Aen Seidhe for at least a short time. That he would be ridiculed and the whispers he would be forced to endure. But why? It wasn’t just that she was a Seidhe. It was a Seidhe who was the spitting image of the one he cared about and loved more than anything. ‘The Fox is trying to mend some of the heartbreak he endured,’ some might gossip. ‘He brought her back to probably fulfill some sick, sexual fantasy’, others would whisper. Save a few, there was hardly an Aen Elle who hadn’t known Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal.

“Who is Lara Dorren?” Iespeth asked.

Avallac'h looked away as if attempting to ignore her.

“She’s...my ancestor. A great ancestor. The reason for my abilities,” interceded Ciri, as she walked over the statue. She glanced at Avallac'h noticing his peculiar behavior. She looked back at Iespeth, the blue light and reflections from the cave wall dancing across her face. She saw now, clearly for the first time, her sister’s strong resemblance to herself. She looked at the statue and saw that resemblance too. She looked once more at the old elf gazing into the depths of the cave and felt sorry for him. She turned back and put a hand gently on Iespeth’s arm. “But this clearly isn’t the time for a history on my lineage.”

_Mother. Daughter. Sister._ Iespeth took note to remember the name.

“We should continue. The portal could open soon and it would be best we not miss it,” Avallac'h now composed, informed the two.

The three walked silently one after another until reaching a room in the lower part of the cave. A great archway stood in the center.

“Best say your goodbyes now,” the sage commanded. “We shall have a window of five minutes to enter once the portal emerges.”

Ciri took Iespeth by the hands and held them to her lips. Her cheeks were already moistened with tears as were Iespeth’s.

“I know we are doing the right thing for you. I know it. But it doesn’t make it any easier,” Ciri choked out.

Iespeth sniffed. “Ciri. You’ve always cared for me. Unlike anyone else ever could. You’re my family, more than you can possibly know. There is so much I want to say to you. So much I wish I could tell you. And I can’t.” She pulled Ciri’s hand to her eyes and wiped off her tears.

“I think...I think I did good all things considered,” Ciri told her cupping her cheek. “I know it wasn’t always easy...”

“You could not have done better,” Iespeth interrupted. Ciri’s nose was running and she cleaned it with her sleave.

“Just remember, the place you’re going is much different. Much safer, but different. Listen to Avallac'h. It’s his home. Let him guide you.”

Iespeth scoffed and chuckled. Her eyes were red and puffy. “We’ll see about that.”

Ciri smiled understanding how difficult the sage could be.

A roaring sound slowly built and the portal in the archway was now open. Avallac'h stood next to it patiently.

Ciri pulled back and looked at Iespeth once more as if burning this moment of her sister into memory.

“Will I ever see you again?” asked Iespeth whose tears where now dripping from her jaw and chin.

“I don’t know,” Ciri said truthfully. Iespeth began sobbing aggressively and Ciri took hold of her giving her one last embrace. The emerald-eyed she-elf squeezed her firmly back.

“I love you,” they both said to each other not wanting to let go.

“It is time,” Avallac'h quietly interrupted, reminding them of their task.

Iespeth pulled away and Ciri watched as she approached the gate. Avallac'h entered first. Iespeth looked back at her as she followed the sage blindly into the portal. The she-elf breathed deeply, tears pouring from her eyes as she looked her last upon her sister. The roar of the magic escalated to an almost deafening volume. Then, she was gone.

Ciri slumped down onto the cold, stone floor of the cave and cried until she had no tears left to shed.

It would be centuries later when Ciri lie on her death bed that she would learn the truth about that emerald-eyed she-elf she found naked and with no memories in the gate of all gates. Iespeth, as Ciri had named her, was in a sense her great ancestor. A different and modified form of Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it for a while. I want to thank everyone who read and commented on my first fan fiction. It was so much fun to write and I loved hearing from all of you.
> 
> I have a part II in the works where more questions will be answered, but probably won't start posting anything until the baby is a bit older. I thought this would be a good stopping point in the story and I have big plans for Iespeth.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on the Elder speech: From what I understand Sapkowski used Gaelic and Celtic and some German as a base for the language. I am using an English to Irish translator for the "meat and bread" of my elven sandwich and my ability to speak German as the "condiments". Hopefully it will seem plausible.


End file.
